Schizoid
by MightyMiget
Summary: Three men, all of them monsters in their own way, find themselves on a new stage to wage war...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The boy was bleeding from a dozen wounds, shards of glittering glass dusted his clothes, turning his blood into some miraculous liquid that shimmered in the moonlight.

"Give me... the phone. That call is for me..." Stumbling forward, the boy swiped his hand to try and grab the blonde Huntress' weapon, the riding crop. But so injured and bleeding, the boy missed and fell to his knees, panting. "The phone, lady. Give it."

Neither Ruby or Glynda knew what was happening, it was all so surreal. The trail of blood leading from the edge of the roof to the boy showed that he had climbed the ladder up here... but why? And what was a 'phone'?

"Are you alright?" Ruby asked and, after confirming that the threats had truly gone, ran towards the fallen boy. "You're bleeding so much! Can you help me?" She called to the Huntress who had saved her from the robber's final attack. "He really needs to get to a hospital!"

Ruby tried to lift the boy up by his shoulders, but let go when he started flailing.

 _~Tururururu~_ The boy stuck his tongue out, making a strange ringing with his mouth, arms patting himself all over as if he was looking for something.

"See? That's. My. Call." He stood once more, one foot at a time, shaky and injured. "Give it." He said to the sky. The shadow of something dangerous flickered around the boy, a hulking, huge monster with arms so red that they seemed to be perpetually bleeding..."I'm Doppio and... The Boss wants to talk to me..." Then he fell on his face, unconscious.

The first thing Ozpin noticed about the man were his eyes. Silver with a strange triangular highlight to the side of the iris.

"Hello, young man. My name is Ozpin. How are you doing?" The events of the night aside, Glynda had mentioned that something strange was going on with this particular boy, what, with his silver eyes and all, and Ozpin had decided to investigate. "I'm sorry you had to get caught up in the crossfire like that."

"I'm fine." The boy's voice was gruff, deep, too deep for someone as young as he. "My name is Vinegar Doppio." It was a half lie. Doppio may have been the name of the persona that _usually_ controlled this body, but the one in charge right now was a completely different man, someone far older and more dangerous, speaking through the body of the innocent seventeen year old.

"Alright, Vinegar-"

"Call me Doppio."

Ozpin nodded his head in understanding. "Doppio, then. Do you remember what happened last night? My associate, Glynda, informed me that you were acting quite strangely. Can you tell me why?"

'Doppio' made a face and brushed his messy hair to one side of his head. "I needed to take a call," he said sarcastically.

"If you needed a Scroll, son. All you had to do was ask." Ozpin took his own out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. "Go on. If you need to call someone, here you are."

Once again, Doppio sneered. "This isn't a phone, old man. What is this thing?" He inspected it, flipping it over in his hands. "Is this a trick?"

"No trick." Ozpin said. "You haven't seen one before?" It was doubtful. Scrolls were nearly ubiquitous in this day and age. "They are rather useful devices called Scrolls. With them you can watch video, make calls, among other things."

"No... I've never seen one before." Doppio passed the Scroll back to the silver haired Headmaster. "Tell me where I am, old man."

"You're in the Kingdom of Vale. More specifically, you're in the _city_ of Vale. Glynda took you to a hospital shortly after you were found. Where did you expect to be?" That was the question, and despite the banality of the conversation, and the growing sense that he was wasting his time, Ozpin waited for Doppio to answer.

"Italy... I was in Italy."

"I've never heard of it."

"Never heard of Italy?" Doppio whispered, sounding scared and overjoyed at the same time. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. I don't mean to brag, but I am rather well educated about these sorts of things. I am certain that I would have heard about this 'Italy' if it existed."

"Every one has heard of Italy, old man. It's the most famous country in the world." Doppio went silent. "Do these mean anything to you? Vatican, Leonardo Da Vinci, Venezia, _Stands?_ " The last one was said in such a whispered, quiet voice that Ozpin had to strain himself to understand.

"Never. I haven't heard a single one of the words you mentioned. Why?" Now boredom had become intrigue. Ozpin was curious.

"Impossible. To think that I've escaped from that death loop only to end up in another Hell..." Doppio muttered to himself. "Giorno Giovanna... you bastard."

"What are you talking about? Death loop? Giorno? Who is that?"

But Doppio shook his head. "It's nothing." Doppio said quietly. "Old man. You've done me a great service. Thank you."

Were those _tears_? Ozpin couldn't quite tell.

"Anyone would have done the same." Ozpin stated lamely. "And it was my associate, Glynda Goodwitch you should be thanking. She's the one who brought you to the hospital."

Doppio shook his head vigorously. "She's your underling, isn't she?"

"I wouldn't called her an underling-"

"Whatever. Thing is I owe you, old man. You saved me from a rather shitty situation. Name your wish."

"Wish?"

"Yes. Wish. Name what you want and if it is my power, I will do it." Doppio was completely serious, a hundred times more mature than his looks suggested. It was his inner mafioso talking, the desire for mutual respect and to pay back debts. His word was ironclad.

Ozpin thought for a moment what a bedridden teenager could do for him. "Alright then," he decided. "Miss Goodwitch said earlier that she saw a the shadow of a strange figure appear around you. What did she mean by that?"

Doppio grunted. "Is that all you want? I thought you didn't know what a Stand is?" Nevertheless, Doppio did as he was bid and summoned his Stand, King Crimson. "Can you see this?" He asked.

"Amazing..." Out of nowhere, a huge figure had appeared, tall and red and crisscrossed with silver lines. On it's forehead was a second face, one that looked just as angry as the main head. "Is that... man that appeared next to you your Stand? I had no idea such a thing existed."

"How can you see it then?" Doppio asked. "Only Stand Users can see Stands. If you aren't a Stand user, then how?"

Ozpin merely shrugged. "I don't know."

The stately, ever angry King Crimson grabbed for Doppio a small glass of water on his bedside table. It was almost comical to watch this hulking, muscle bound monster act as servant for the young man.

"I assume you use your Stand for combat as well?" Ozpin reached out and touched the red figure in front of him. It felt cool, almost reptilian in how its skin was so slick and hard.

"Yes." That one touch told Doppio much. The people of Remnant could not only see, but they could _touch_ Stands without being Stand users themselves. "King Crimson is quite strong."

"You've named it?"

Doppio scoffed. "Of course I did. King Crimson is my faithful servant."

"What can it do?" That was what Ozpin was most curious about.

"What do you expect it to do?" Doppio commanded his Stand to throw out several punches, shadow boxing even though the Stand did not cast a shadow. "It can hit things. It's fast. That's it." A lie, but Doppio didn't want anyone to know the secret of King Crimson.

"Hmm..." Ozpin muttered to himself. The boy didn't seem like a liar, and Ozpin was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. "What will you do next?"

"What do you mean, old man?"

"The doctors say that you are free to leave whenever. Your injuries were not very severe. Do you have a home? Anywhere to go to? You spoke of a place that doesn't exist. Italy. What will you do?"

"I don't know." There came a forlorn, profoundly sad expression on Doppio's handsome, freckle covered face. "You might have guessed at what I'm trying to say. That I'm not from around here and that I have no way of getting back to my... home. But I'll figure something out."

Ozpin looked as if he wanted to say something, but the man closed his mouth. "I could help you, you know. I teach at a school that trains girls and boys to be Hunters. How about you join? You look to be around seventeen, I could give you a place there, if you want."

"Not interested." Doppio gave a grin and realized that this was just another test of fate. This would be his second chance to create his empire. An announcement came on over the hospital's speakers signalling that visiting hours were over. "That's your cue to leave."

When Ozpin left the room, Diavolo sighed in relief. It was incredibly annoying to maintain control _and_ keep Doppio's youthful facade up at the same time.

He let the transformation take its full course and in the hospital room was a grown man of thirty three instead of a youth of seventeen. Diavolo shrugged the hospital linens off and stood to his feet. Thankfully his clothes had been placed on a table next to him, freshly washed and laundered. He looked in the mirror, touching himself all over, remembering the millions of wounds that he had accrued over his time in Giorno Giovanna's death loop. Oh if only _he_ had won the fight for the Arrow, everything would be so different.

But now, here he was, once all powerful mafia kingpin, now banished to a strange world where he had no choice but to play along and grovel, as if he was some dependent child. God, Diavolo shook his head and ran his fingers through his long, pink hair. It truly was a desperate situation for Diavolo. Considering how ignorant he was of the world of Remnant, it would be nearly impossible for him to find a way back to Italy, especially if he was to work alone. Sure, he was happy to be free from that cycle of infinite death, but it still rankled him to no end that he had been subject to such terror.

After a while of ranting and trashing the room around him, Diavolo decided that there _was_ a silver lining to his arrival at Remnant.

In this new world, no one knew of him. They had only seen Vinegar Doppio, the handsome, ditzy youth. Of course it was _Diavolo_ that had been speaking to Ozpin earlier, but that had been a necessity, it had been with Doppio's body so there wasn't a huge risk of his double nature being revealed. The Headmaster was obviously an intelligent man, and had Diavolo allowed Doppio to stay in control... well, Doppio had never been one for diplomacy. The boy would probably have screwed things up in some way or another.

"King Crimson." Diavolo summoned his Stand and stared at it for a good while. "We are in a dangerous new world, aren't we?" He asked, knowing fully that there would be no response save an animalistic growl and the grinding of teeth. "A world where no one knows of my past, but one where _we_ have no future..." It depressed him greatly that Passione was gone, out of his reach forever. The fruit of fourteen years of hard labor, meticulous planning and oversight, taken down by those bastard children Bruno Bucciarati and Giorno Giovanna.

God! Thinking about it made Diavolo tug at his own hair, growling in frustration and anger. He had been the Emperor! The man with the unbeatable Stand, the Boss who controlled the entirety of Passione from the shadows, expanding his wealth and influence farther than any mafioso could have ever dreamed of... He could have ruled the world! He was the master of fate, the only one who could ever completely control destiny! How? How? How? _How?_ How could he had lost?

It was too painful to recall the countless deaths and rebirths, the knives and gunshots, the times spent eaten alive by various animals, drowning in foul, stagnant sewers and- Diavolo wrenched his mind from the death loop and wept.

He had nothing now. His empire was dust and the only thing to do was to build it again. Yes, Diavolo clenched his fist and ground his teeth and reignited the passion in his heart, wiping his tears. He would go to Beacon Academy and become the master of his fate all over again. That was his dream, to be the Emperor.

Doppio settled into the armchair, a stolen doughnut crammed into his mouth as he perused the book in his lap.

 _A History of Remnant,_ read the title.

"Huh." Doppio stared into the ceiling, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It was past midnight now but Doppio wanted to at least get through another chapter of his book before going to sleep. The Boss had called again, suggesting that Doppio research the land that they were in, and as always, Doppio obeyed. This time he had broken into Tukson's Book Trade, using King Crimson's powers to enter undetected while the owner had been closing up shop. The poor man hadn't suspected a thing.

Blinking, Doppio turned back to his book and continued reading about the strange monsters that roamed the world of Remnant called 'Grimm'. The illustrations in the book showed fantastical creatures in shades of black and white and accents of red that looked incredibly similar to animals that Doppio had known back on Earth. The Grimm even had similar names! It was a coincidence that no one else would have overlooked, but Doppio considered it to be just that, a coincidence, and nothing more.

His reading had been fairly comprehensive that night. First going over what exactly a 'Hunter' was and what their general role in society and abilities were. The 'Aura' and 'Semblance' that the Hunters used to fight the Grimm seemed to be a rudimentary form of Stand power and Doppio supposed that was the reason that the Boss had mentioned that on Remnant, non Stand users could see and interact with Stands.

"These people are so weird," Doppio moaned. Especially strange had been the chapter on the 'Faunus'. Apparently there existed an entire separate species of sentient beings on Remnant, only difference from humans was that they had physical traits from specific types of animals. It was strange, but Doppio had enjoyed that picture of the girl with rabbit ears... it was cute.

But despite how much he wanted to read, to learn so that he could better help the Boss, Doppio knew that it was best for him to go to sleep. He stood and slid the thick history book back onto the shelf and settled into the small armchair in which he had been reading in. It was old and comfortable and the store was warm. Doppio fell asleep quickly.

And once Doppio was asleep, Diavolo came out to play.

The transformation took around ten seconds, first the hair lengthening and turning to Diavolo's characteristic shade of pink his eyes turning silver and erupting with black fragments, muscles growing, body growing taller- Diavolo quickly stripped himself of Doppio's purple sweater so that it wouldn't rip. Underneath was a slim, muscular body covered in a mesh wire shirt that seemed to be designed after a spider's web.

The Emperor was back.

Standing from the warm seat, Diavolo quickly made his way for the door and activated King Crimson, skipping over the section of time in which he _would have_ opened the door to walk through. To an observer it would have appeared as if he simply teleported outside, the door had never been unlocked, no alarm had been triggered. The _result_ of his walking was there, but the cause was gone, as if it had been erased from ever occurring...

 _'Thank you, my dear...'_ Diavolo thought to himself, praising his alternate personality for being so studious. With the information about this new world safely stored in Doppio's memory, Diavolo had access to it whenever he so desired. Now all that was left to do was ingrain himself in the criminal underworld... And what better way to do that than to find criminals?

It was perfect. With his experience as a mafia kingpin back in Italy, Diavolo knew how to wage and win a turf war. He, after all, had defeated and assimilated all those other gangs, turning a once fragmented criminal underground into a cohesive and lucrative enterprise. And, like before, Diavolo had his Stand. Remnant would pose no threat to the Emperor... right?

The more he thought, the more Diavolo realized that not all was well. Even with the power of King Crimson he simply did not have the _human_ resources needed to create a replica to Passione. One of the main reasons that Diavolo had been able to create such a powerful gang so quickly had been because of the success of Passione's narcotics division. Massimo Volpe and his Stand, Manic Depression, had been able to turn ordinary salt into the most addictive, powerful drug on the market. Without such a clear and easy source of income, creating a new gang would be difficult.

And the arrow... Diavolo had found the six arrows in his youth while on an archaeological expedition. Five of them he had sold to that old hag, the money used as capital to start Passione, but Diavolo had kept one, the beetle headed Stand Arrow. That one had become Passione's initiation test, making sure that no weak willed members could join and bringing a constant supply of Stand users into the gang. That was the true secret behind Passione. Despite all the secrecy and infighting and constant revolts, the power of having an army of Stand users had been the reason why Diavolo was so easily able to defeat rival gangs and enforce his rule. There were only about a thousand members of Passione at any given time, but what would it matter when the members were had powers that the mundane couldn't compete with?

No, Diavolo was missing three key ingredients to start a gang. He had no money, no soldiers, and no product. It would be best to take over an existing gang...

His rambling thoughts and mindless wandering had led Diavolo to a seedy part of town, one with flashing neon lights advertising strip clubs and titty bars and where pungent smoke wafted through windows and vents. It was dirty here, weeds growing through the sidewalk, through the cobblestones, choking the earth, bottles everywhere, some broken, some whole, some still half full of alcohol. It was disgusting and low and _dangerous_ and Diavolo knew that this was the right place to be

Two men were crossing the street, greedy grins on their faces. From what Doppio had read earlier, Diavolo knew these two to be Faunus. The first had the ears of a sad basset hound, the second the striped tail of a tiger. They had identical masks on, made of some white bone like material that seemed to glow orange in the presence of the old streetlights. Gang members? Diavolo ventured a guess, and judging by the weapons in their hands, a length of chain and a hammer respectively, the two Faunus were trying to protect their turf.

"Did either of you... see my face?" Diavolo asked in a whisper, to his side a cloud of smoke had erupted, the silhouette of a man seen blurrily. "Tell the truth."

"Yeah, and you look like a faggot," said the Faunus with the tiger tail. "Your hair naturally that shit color?"

"Yes." Diavolo stalked forward, a menacing expression on his face. "Tell me, who do you work for?"

"Step back, guy." The Faunus with the droopy ears raised his weapon as if to strike. "We're part of White Fang, and we own these streets, you _humans_ ain't welcome here." The word human was laced with derision and anger.

Diavolo wasn't concerned at all about the two Faunus, he would kill them soon enough for having seen his face, but he needed information first. "King Crimson!" Diavolo's hair flew unnaturally to cover his face, the insides of his bangs showed a strange, distorted world where the two Faunus that had threatened Diavolo, they were moving, attacking with their hammer and chain. Diavolo saw a flash of his own death at the hands of the two brutes and activated his Stand. "Time has been _erased!_ "

Then he stood behind the two men, King Crimson's fist through the one with the tiger's tail and the other kicked to the ground by Diavolo himself.

"What, what the fuck just happened?"

Diavolo dismissed his Stand and let the poor tiger Faunus fall to the ground, wheezing for air that would not come. His lungs, had been obliterated by King Crimson's punch. With his foot, Diavolo casually kicked the dog eared Faunus in the throat.

"Nameless, faceless creatures such as you don't even deserve an explanation." Diavolo said plainly as the Faunus squirmed beneath him. "You subhuman filth, you don't even qualify as _ants!"_ Diavolo kicked again, this time hitting the man in the forehead, cutting him deeply with the hard leather head of the shoe.

"What, what, what..." The remaining Faunus turned his head and saw the lifeless, bloodless face of his comrade. He looked so pale in death. What had happened? He had tried to hit the man, and then- the man made a sound of despair. He didn't even _remember_ swinging his hammer. He had begun to but everything after that _simply wasn't there._ As if it had never happened, as if he had gone from point A to point C without even traveling. What?

Diavolo grabbed the thug by the collar and pulled him to the curb, distaste clearly on his face. "Don't even try and figure it out. You're too stupid. Tell me what White Fang is." With a cruel hand, Diavolo ripped the mask from the dog Faunus' face. "Oh, stop crying. You're an _adult_."

"W-who are you?" The Faunus stammered. His hands were warm with blood, with his friend's blood.

"Don't be so fucking cliched!" Diavolo picked the man up, tugging him again by the collar, and slammed him to the ground. "What's your name?"

"C-cannae," the Faunus ground out. "Man, what the fuck did you just do?" He was panicking, too scared and confused to know what was going on. A hand slapped him twice on the same cheek, hard. "Fuck, man!"

"Listen you little shit. Cannae, you're totally fucked right now. You know that?" Diavolo shouted into the man's face and realized that there were other people on the streets now, none of them really paying attention, but all of them going about their business. If any of them were to catch glimpse of his face, he'd kill them as well...

But the people in this part of town, they were used to the violence. They barely paid Diavolo any attention.

"What is White Fang?" Diavolo whispered to his victim and pulled him behind an automobile for a modicum of privacy. "Tell me, Cannae. Your death is going to be painful as shit, so don't ask for mercy or anything like that."

"White Fang? I'm a member of White Fang."

"I know!" Diavolo wanted to scream, but he knew it would attract more attention. Instead he whispered harshly and pulled on Cannae's eyelid. "You piece of shit, if the next words out of your mouth aren't related to what White Fang is, I'm going to pull off your eyelids."

"What? Please, please, you can't-"

But Diavolo did.

The Faunus clutched at his eye as blood erupted from the space above the newly exposed eye. There was red everywhere, so red, so much blood that it covered and soaked into his eyes.

He tried letting out a scream but found that a fist had been shoved inside his mouth, all the way to the back of his throat, gagging him.

"Listen, you little shit. You're going to die. You understand?"

Cannae nodded, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

"Good. Just calm the fuck down and tell me what White Fang is." Diavolo slowly removed his hand from the Faunus' mouth. Even alligators and sharks couldn't bite when something was blocking their throat like that.

The two sat in silence for a minute or so and the thug realized that the terrifying man before him had silver eyes flecked with black. This wasn't an ordinary person he was dealing with, this man with the outrageous pink hair, with the strange mesh shirt- this man was the devil himself.

"White Fang is an organization of Faunus..." the terrified man whispered, his throat still aching from the earlier kick. "It used to be peaceful and everything, but that didn't get anything done. Humans, you guys never stopped with the discrimination. What were we supposed to do? When you can't feed your kids cause no one will hire you just because you're a-"

"Who's the leader?"

"I don't know-" a strike to the forehead made Cannae rethink his answer. "Roman! It's Roman Torchwick, but he's not the head! He's just _my_ boss!"

Diavolo grabbed the Faunus by the droopy dog ear that marked him as _other_ , as _different_ , and slammed his face into the concrete curb. "That's enough." Diavolo stood and nudged the man with his shoe. "Now bite down."

"What?" It came out all slurred and wet because all Cannae could taste was his own blood and the piece of cheek that he had accidentally bitten off.

"Bite down on the curb."

The dog man was too scared to do anything other than obey. "Like th-"

Diavolo picked up his foot and stomped on the back of the man's head, forcing his teeth and mouth into the rough concrete, breaking teeth and gum and skull. The pop of the man's jaw being dislocated, the crunch of his digging into the mealy flesh of the mouth. There was so much blood. So many teeth flying everywhere.

Some one on the street screamed. There was cursing as people came to investigate the sounds of murder and found the bodies of the victims, one made a doughnut the other with his head obliterated. But no police were called. At least, not until morning. The people here, they didn't trust the law like that...

With the power of King Crimson, Diavolo escaped into an alleyway without anyone else actually having seen him.

"White Fang, huh?" From his vantage point in the shadows, Diavolo watched as the blood from the corpses began to pool. As the crimson stain began to spread, Diavolo plotted his rise to power.

 **AN: I'm completely rewriting what I have so far of this story to better reflect on what I originally intended when writing this fic. Sorry for the hassle.**

 **The only thing that's changed so from the first post of chapter one and this post is that Doppio/Diavolo will not be attending Beacon**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The club was loud, noisy, and Doppio loved it. He had been in so many similar venues, making deals, running drugs, gathering information- it was like the good old days back in Italy. Coming here had been step one in the Boss' master plan to take over White Fang. Junior was said to be the man who knew everything there was to know about Vale, and the Boss had ordered that Doppio head to the club to get information on the drug trade. Once they got into cornered that market and had a steady stream of capital, the Boss could actively begin to mobilize against the larger gang.

Pushing against the dancers and revelers, Doppio slowly found his way to the bar, through the maze of bodies. It was hot and sticky and the whole place smelled of alcohol and sweat. A club like this wouldn't have been out of place in Milan or Florence, all the lights black and white and flashing.

"Barkeep!" Doppio pulled himself up onto a stool and shouted as loud as he could. "Hey barkeep!" He grabbed a half empty shot glass next to him and banged it onto the slick wooden surface of the bar. "Pay some fucking attention here!"

 _That_ got the man's attention and soon enough the bartender made his way over to Doppio, a scowl on his face.

"Show me your ID, kid. We card." The bartender, a young man with a thin, peaked face and brown hair, pointed to a yellow sign. "If you aren't 21, we won't serve."

"Not here for booze." Doppio pulled himself close to the bar so that he didn't have to yell so loudly. "Where's Junior? I hear he's got a lot to say."

"Depends who's asking." The bartender said warily. The last person that had come looking for Junior had left a huge mess… they had only recently gotten the club remodeled! "You looking for trouble?"

Doppio shook his head but grinned widely. "There's gonna be some trouble if you _don't fucking tell me where he is._ " With those words, Doppio grabbed hold of the bartender's collar and bumped foreheads with the older man. "There's gonna be some trouble for _you_ especially…"

"All right!" The bartender wrenched himself away and pointed towards a black staircase in the corner club. "He's probably in his office. Take those stairs and get the fuck out of here."

"Thanks," Doppio slapped the man on the cheek playfully and hopped over the bar, filling a shot glass with the closest whiskey that he could find and downing it. The burn felt so good, so refreshing and familiar that Doppio could've screamed.

He understood how it worked around these places. The employees, all the thugs and hired help, they had loyalty only to a point. Threaten them a bit and they would say anything and everything. It was just like home, just like how the Boss had taught him.

After ten minutes of careful maneuvering and throwing elbows to make his way through the crowd, Doppio found himself at the top of the staircase that the bartender had pointed out, face to face with a plain door marked 'PRIVATE'.

He knocked as hard as he could, rapping his knuckles against the door.

From inside came a muffled yell to: "Let 'em in!"

The bass thumping and the party raging, the door opened and Doppio was face to face with a pair green eyes and a fringe of black hair.

* * *

Through the door was an office, two girls, and a man behind a desk, nursing what appeared to be a broken arm.

"You must be Junior." Doppio grunted as the girl who had led him in twisted his arms painfully, restraining him. "I need to ask you about some stuff."

"What could a kid like you want with _me?_ " Junior asked. He felt strangely nervous about talking with people ever since that blonde girl had come and trashed his club. "Last person who just wanted to talk ended up being a real problem. Why don't I just throw you out?"

"Get these kids out of here and I'll tell you why you shouldn't throw me out."

"You don't look to be any older than them, you know."

Doppio knew. He just didn't care. He was on a mission for the Boss after all. It was his policy to be as quick and effective as possible when on assignment.

"Just get them out of here."

"They're my bodyguards. I have a broken arm. Why the Hell would I want to be in a room alone with a stranger?" Junior shook his head. "And I never even agreed to talk with you."

The girls must have taken that to be a signal. Quickly, they took their positions at Junior's side.

"Fine," Doppio forced himself to concede and stretched his newly freed arms. It would be better to be at least somewhat diplomatic than just force information from the man. "What can you tell me about the drug trade? Who's leading it, who's dealing around here, who makes it all. I need to know."

"Man," Junior scoffed. "You're asking me to tell a kid like you about all that stuff? Go back to school, kid. Don't do drugs. It's best this way."

"It's my business what I do, isn't it?" Doppio replied. "And if it makes you feel any better, I'm not _looking_ for drugs. I'm looking for the guy in charge. Tell me about that, huh?"

"Why do you want to know?" Junior considered telling the boy everything… but information never came free. "Why should I tell you?"

"If you don't feel like it right now, how about I re break your arm? Will that make you feel like talking?" Doppio stepped towards the desk, unheeding of the two girls who began to respond, the one in the black brandishing claw like blades on her hands and the other one showing that her heels were spiked. But none of that mattered, when faced with King Crimson or even Epitaph, no one could even be considered a threat.

This was how the Boss had told him to deal with other criminals. Threats of violence and displays of power were the only ways to make them learn their place.

"Epitaph," Doppio whispered, and with the prescience granted by his Stand, dodged the kick aimed at his throat, bending backwards, and sweeping his leg, toppling Melanie who had just attacked him.

When the second girl swiped at his face with her hand claws, Doppio activated King Crimson, skipping the section of time where the blades were to touch him, erasing them from ever happening. The result was the girl with her claws in a finished arc, no blood staining them, no wound on Doppio's face. She had swung and she hadn't missed, yet the only thing to happen was that her hand and jumped from start to finish without accomplishing anything.

Militia yelped as Doppio took her confusion and headbutted her in the nose, breaking it, crunching cartilage and burst blood vessels gushing, the spaces under her eyes gradually turning bruised.

"How's that for you?" Doppio kicked the other girl, Melanie, in the stomach, winding her and preventing her from standing again. "Your turn now? Or are you ready to talk?" He asked Junior.

Junior didn't understand what had just happened. One moment it had seemed that Militia had the upper the upper hand, ready to take a swipe and cut the strange boy's face… but when the swipe had come— had she swiped? Junior couldn't remember, he couldn't remember Militia trying to hit the boy… but she must have! Her hand had moved from point A to point B and yet where was that space between?

Doppio jumped onto Junior's desk and grabbed him by the ear. With a broken arm, there wasn't anything that the man could do to stop him.

"So, you ready now?"

Junior jerked his head up and down. "Y-yeah. I'll talk."

"Great!" Doppio perked up and stepped off the desk. "Tell me, what's the hottest shit on the market right now. What's everyone buying?"

Hesitating for a moment, Junior opened the desk drawer and produced a small dime bag full of pieces of blue crystal. "Here," the club owner tossed the baggie to Doppio who caught it in one hand. "The junkies call it 'Blue Sky' because the color and how high it gets them. Meth…" Junior sighed. "It's been here for a couple months now, but only recently has it become really popular. It used to be just one or two guys selling this stuff, but nowadays it's everywhere."

"Who's the dealer round these parts?" Doppio asked and opened the baggie sniffing at the product. It was strong. He hadn't ever experimented with drugs before, but he had always worked with them, either transporting, making, or procuring the ingredients needed to make the drugs. He could tell it was excellent product, strong and pure.

Junior ripped off a sticky note from a pad on his desk and scrawled an address on it, handing it to Doppio. "The main dealer around these parts has a safe house here where he sells his meth. His name's Pinkman or something like that. But I've got to warn you," Junior for a moment looked almost concerned, as if being overheard by anyone would result in terrible consequences. "His boss is a man by the name of Fring. He's the head honcho around these parts. He's dangerous, so don't tell him that I pointed you in his direction."

"I never snitch." Doppio took the offered scrap of paper and stuffed it in his pocket. "Junior?" Doppio gave a stunning smile and turned from the club owner. "Thanks for everything."

* * *

The doorbell rang and Doppio waited, sitting on the dirty, gum crusted steps that led up to the house. Cigarette burns and ash stained the sidewalks and the only green that could be seen were the small patches of grass and weeds that erupted from sidewalk cracks and the empty spaces where there was nothing but brown, arid dirt.

It was a small condominium crammed onto a single city block with two dozen just like it. The people milling about the area were poor, the poorest of the poor living in subsidized housing with little to no hope for the future and nothing but time on their hands. Already Doppio knew what it would look like inside, filthy, smelly, no appliances or food other than boxes of pizza and stale takeout. A terrible, dangerous place to live.

When the door creaked open, Doppio turned to find a striking blue eye, rimmed in red and wetness, peering from inside the house.

"What are you looking for?" Asked the person inside. "Haven't seen you before."

"I'm here to deal." Doppio stood and walked towards the door, propping it open with his foot before the man could close it. He activated Epitaph in case of hidden danger. "You have time to talk?"

"I don't sell to kids." The voice, obviously male, growled. "Get out of here."

"Not here to buy. Just to talk." Despite the man pushing back, Doppio easily forced the door open using King Crimson's arm. "You should put away the gun, too. I know you won't shoot." Doppio walked inside, against the man's sputtering. "Are you Pinkman?"

"If you _want_ me to be, then yes. I am." Once inside, Doppio could make out a man of average height, pale, dirty, and unshaven. He obviously had been alone for a while now, waiting and selling to the various customers who would make their way to buy the forbidden product. "Who are you?" He sounded emotional, voice heavy as if he had been crying. And of course, the man was high, or at least, had been high recently. All the classic symptoms of meth abuse, sunken, gaunt cheeks, disgusting smell wafting from his mouth, dry cracked lips, and burnt fingers.

The only light in the house was the minutiae amount coming through the cheap plastic blinds. Everything else was covered in shadow, for the best, considering how dirty it was. Some messes were best left covered.

"I'm just looking for some answers. You can call me D, if you need a name." Doppio noticed that Pinkman's feet were bare, but decided to keep his own shoes on. Never knew what kind of filth might be on the floors, dirty needles, old metal spoons, mouse traps… "Can we sit down?"

"You need to leave, kid. I don't know who you are, but you aren't getting anything out of me." The drug dealer moved in front of Doppio to block his passage through the house and smacked his chapped lips together, drooling and slurring at the same time. "You can't be here."

"No…" Doppio shook his head. Epitaph was showing that he would soon be seated and talking with the man, so there was no need to worry about anything. "I need to be here. And you need to talk to me."

The man grunted and pulled at his nonexistent hair, obviously frustrated. "Fine. Come sit down. I'll talk to you for a minute." He led Doppio into the kitchen area where there was a small wooden table with two cheap chairs.

There was a huge plastic bag full of the blue crystal meth that Doppio had come to recognize as 'Blue Sky'. On the floor was a cardboard box full of smaller bags, empties of various sizes so that they could be packed full of product and sold. There were rubber bands for tying off, old plastic pen cases for snorting, and of course, small scales littered the kitchen countertops and table.

"What do you want to talk about?" Pinkman asked. "And please, hurry the fuck up," he added. "It isn't good for a kid like you to be here."

"Who's your supplier?" Doppio asked, cutting straight to business. "Is it Fring?"

"Yes." Pinkman seemed to grow suspicious. "How'd you figure that?"

"Just heard about it." Doppio had promised to keep Junior out of the proceedings, and it seemed amiss to betray the club owner's trust, even in such a minor way as this. "But that's not the point. I'm just here to find out who the _producer_ of this shit is." Doppio patted a baggie of the methamphetamine. "You happen to know?"

"I work with him," the dealer confessed. From that statement alone Doppio could tell that there was history, serious history between the two. Pinkman sounded resentful, like whatever relationship they had had been soured by something, but Doppio could tell that the drug dealer still cared for the meth cook. "He like taught me everything…" Pinkman hiccupped. "I used to suck ass at cooking, you know? He took me under his wing, he needed money too, but he taught me to cook—"

"Pinkman—"

"Call me Jesse."

"Jesse," Doppio leaned forward in his seat and pressed his questioning. "What happened between the two of you? I can help you, man. I'm good with people. If you introduce me to him, I'll make sure you guys can make up. Be friends again."

But the drug dealer shook his head. "No way. Not anymore. He's…" Jesse's voice broke. "I can't go see him again. It's too dangerous."

"And why's that? Is it because of Fring?"

Jesse seemed unwilling to talk, to involve a teenager in his problems was so wrong to him. "You need to get outta here, kid. Don't talk about Fring to nobody."

"Why haven't you called the Hunters in on this? If Fring really is as dangerous as you say, wouldn't they come and stop him?" Doppio remembered from his readings that Hunters were routinely called to stop crime as well as fight Grimm.

The drug dealer let out a bitter laugh. "Bitches can't do shit. Fring has the whole thing set up so that the law can't touch him. He launders the money perfectly through his restaurant franchise, he has the perfect place for a lab, from the outside he's just a normal guy— he isn't like some huge danger by himself, he can't fight or do anything like that. He's an entrepreneur to the public, but beneath all that… It's just…" Jesse had a look of fear in his eyes.

"He's brutal. He's smart. And he has too much leverage on me. If I try and go for help, you gotta understand, he won't stop with me. He'll kill my family, my friends, _everyone_. God, why am I talking to a kid about this…" Jesse hung his head and cried, fearing for his own life, for his mentor's life, even the kid in front of him, _his_ life was in danger, just by knowing of Fring's criminal enterprise.

"How about your friend, the genius meth cook? Is he still working for Fring? You've obviously tried your best to cut ties."

Jesse shook his head frantically. "Yeah, he is working for Fring. But he doesn't have a choice," suddenly, unbidden and unrestrained, all the emotions that Jesse had been bottling, the fear and worry and anxiety, all came gushing out. "He's has to, understand? Mr. White has to work with Fring. He needs the money for his cancer treatment _and_ for his family. But not just that, Fring will kill him if he stops working. Mr. Whi— _Heisenberg_ 's the only one, he's the only one who knows how to make the meth that good…"

"Sounds like you need help," Doppio rationalized. "Like serious outside help. Otherworldly help," the young gangster chuckled at his little joke. "Have you thought of that?"

"And what? Go to the cops? The Hunters? They'll bag me too! They can't do anything to Fring!"

"How about the boy sitting in front of you?" Doppio asked. Increasingly it seemed like Pinkman's high was dying down, but it seemed that recounting all the harrowing emotional turmoil inside made the man willing to speak freely. "I could help, if you want."

"You fucking with me, bitch?" Jesse yelled. "You think this is funny? Get the fuck out!"

"I wasn't joking. I have a guy who can get _anything_ done." Doppio put his hands up to placate the raging meth addict. "Despite whatever differences you had in the past with Mr. White, you obviously want your mentor to get out safely. I can help you out."

Jesse stopped his shouting, hesitating for a moment over the boy in front of him. Despite his ridiculous purple hair and badly designed sweater, he seemed sincere in what he said. "There's no way. What do you think you can do to Fring? You just going to waltz in there and kill him?"

"Exactly." Doppio smiled, happy that the drug dealer finally seemed to understand. "I promise you, Pinkman. If you want it done, it'll get done."

"You're joking." The drug dealer, so much had gone wrong in his life that he seemed incapable of believing that his fortune was turning. "You've got to be joking…"

"Well, of course it won't be free…"

But Jesse didn't care about money. He would have given it all away if it meant having his old life back, before all the meth and the money and the death of all those innocent people… people who he had ruined— it had been a shitty, piss poor excuse for a life, but _anything_ was better than the Hell he was living currently.

"You can have it all. Like my share of it. Kid, I know you're lying. I know it's fucking impossible, but _I just want a second chance!_ " He screamed.

And with the desperate screaming of a man tortured to near insanity by his tragic, tragic life— Doppio knew that the plan would proceed without trouble. Here was a man so desperate to live, for his friends to live, that he'd give away his entire world…

* * *

 _"WELL DONE, DOPPIO."_

It was dinner time now, and Doppio was seated at a restaurant, awaiting his order of . There was no need to steal food for now because Jesse had been almost eager to part with his money and had pressed an envelope of Lien into his hands before promising to meet the next day.

"Thank you, Boss." Doppio was holding a small, moss covered stone in his hand, using it as a phone. "I'm going to meet Pinkman tomorrow, Boss. He'll bring the meth cook and show us where the lab is."

 _"AND I WILL BE CLOSE BEHIND. DOPPIO,"_ the Boss sounded extremely pleased. _"IF FRING DIES TOMORROW, HOW EASILY WILL WE BE ABLE TO TAKE CONTROL OF HIS EMPIRE?"_

"I'm not so sure, Boss." Doppio said, embarassed. "Pinkman seems to be less involved, less knowledgeable of the whole venture. I got the sense that Mr. Heisenberg was his mentor or teacher of sorts. It would be best to speak with him, I think."

 _"DOPPIO,"_ Diavolo ordered after a moment of consideration. _"TOMORROW I WILL KILL THE MAN KNOWN AS FRING. YOU WILL GO TO THE LAB AS SHOWN BY PINKMAN. YOU WILL MEET WITH THE MAN KNOWN AS HEISENBERG. AND WHEN THE KINGPIN IS DEAD AND I AM SEATED UPON HIS EMPIRE, WE WILL DISCUSS THE NEXT ORDER OF BUSINESS."_

"You're going to be doing this yourself, Boss?" It was rare, incredibly rare that the Boss ever come out of hiding to his work. Only in moments of great importance did the Boss come out of hiding to show the world his power. Usually he had Doppio or his other subordinates to do the work for him… "Boss! I can do this myself! You don't need to worry about it!" It was the first major assignment in this new world, one that Doppio wanted to complete on his own to demonstrate his continued value to the Boss.

 _"NO. DOPPIO, THERE IS TOO MUCH AT STAKE HERE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW FORTUNATE WE ARE? FIRST THE CLUB OWNER HAPPENS TO KNOW EXACTLY THE PERSON WE NEED, THE DEALER, PINKMAN, AND NEXT, PINKMAN HAPPENS TO BE IN TIGHT WITH THE ONE WHO COOKS THE METH…"_ Diavolo paused and continued with an iron timbre in his voice. _"THIS IS OUR CHANCE, DOPPIO. YOU ARE MY TRUSTED CONSILAGRE, BUT I MUST DO THIS MYSELF. IF ANYTHING IS TO GO WRONG TOMORROW, IT WILL BE MONTHS, YEARS EVEN, BEFORE WE HAVE THE RESOURCES TO MATCH WHITE FANG. MONEY, IS WHAT WE NEED. AND FRING'S EMPIRE IS HOW WE WILL ACCOMPLISH IT."_

 _"DOPPIO,"_ the Boss said softly. _"THIS IS A TEST FROM FATE. HOW FORTUNATE, WE ARE TO HAVE STUMBLED UPON THIS OPPORTUNITY? THIS IS NOT A BELITTLEMENT OF YOUR ABILITY, RATHER A CHANCE FOR ME TO EXCERSISE MY POWER."_

The young gangster nodded his understanding and motioned the waitress over with his food and began his meal in silence. The plan was set and all that was left to do was to allow the Boss to do his thing.

* * *

Ozpin bowed his head, tired and confused and frustrated. He had just reviewed the security footage from the hospital where he had last left the strange boy, Vinegar Doppio. There wasn't anything on the tapes, and earlier when he had spoken to the hospital staff, they had assured the Headmaster that there were no signs of forced entry or exit. Everything there was as it was supposed to be.

Except of course, they were missing a patient. A patient that wasn't _officially_ under lock and key, but one that Ozpin had expressed his interest in. One that had vanished without a trace…

Sadly, there hadn't been any security footage from the patient's room itself, out of privacy, but Ozpin had a nagging suspicion that the secret behind the disappearing act lay there, in the room where Doppio and the Headmaster had had a conversation.

This was someone whom Ozpin knew nearly nothing about, except for the fact that he had some sort of unknown power and had been raving about countries and worlds that did not exist. And that someone was roaming the city, the country, the planet, fulfilling and furthering whatever agenda that they wanted to. Whether they were working with Salem or the other forces of evil that Ozpin had dedicated his life to opposing was unknown, but that was precisely the problem, wasn't it?

There was a recognition that Ozpin had sometime after the conversation between Vinegar Doppio. The recognition that the boy he was talking to was purely self-serving, that he'd do anything, no matter how terrible or vile, to further his own agenda, to make the world in his own image… and who was to say that was the boy's real name? Ozpin couldn't have known. There had been other needs to tend to at the time, Ruby Rose mainly and her early matriculation to Beacon, and Ozpin put off the issue of the boy for another day…

And now Ozpin's inaction had come to haunt him.

* * *

"Mr. Heisenberg, my name is Vinegar Doppio."

The two shook hands.

Heisenberg was an older man, bald, gaunt, and pale, almost that pasty sort of skin shade that marked one as ill or dying. Deep furrows lined the contours of his face, the accumulation of stress and sleepless nights.

The man looked confused, unbelieving that this teenager in front of him could possibly be the solution to his problem. "Are you for real about this?" White asked his protégé, Jesse Pinkman. "This is the person you were talking about? Jesse, I don't have time for this nonsense! Fring wants me to start cooking as soon as they're done packaging!"

In hindsight, without the drugs and haze of depression blinding him, Jesse realized that the whole meeting was a bit of an error. How could a teenager help them out against Fring, the biggest kingpin in the area?

"I am the person that Mr. Pinkman was talking about." Doppio started diplomatically and nodded his head towards the cook. "I heard about your problem, Mr. Heisenberg. A certain Fring is causing you troubles? Threatening you?"

The aging man shot his partner an angry glance and agreed with the teenaged mobster. "Yes. All that's true. But that doesn't explain why _you're_ here. This is ridiculous."

"Don't you need something a bit ridiculous to get you out of this?" Doppio asked, knowing full well that the two men had no option but to kill Fring. "From what Jesse here told me, you could be killed at any moment. I'm assuming that you're the only one who knows how to cook the 'Blue Sky'?"

"That's right." The man nodded. "I'm the cook." Jesse knew the formula and process as well, but it was best to keep him out of it, protected from being used.

"Could I ask you," Doppio said as he took from his pocket a crumpled piece of paper. "Why exactly you started cooking?" On the paper was the Boss' plan, detailed in Doppio's meticulous scrawl.

"Money, why else?" Heisenberg scoffed. "I needed money."

"And it's too much now, right?" Doppio started. "At first it was hundreds, thousands, I bet the first time you hit ten thousand in cash, you were floored. Just starting out, like a baby bird feeling the wind beneath his wings for the first time… but now, ten thousand is nothing. A hundred thousand is nothing." Doppio clapped his hands together for emphasis. "And as the money grows, the danger does as well, right? It might have been local dealers and shit trying to get you for stepping on their turf when you were small, but now, kingpins and cartels are after you, after your skills, your lives, your _families_."

"And how does a kid like you know all this?" White asked. It was true. The past couple of months, Fring had forced Walter to work with Gale, one of the meth cooks under the kingpins employ. Walter knew that he'd be killed once Gale could replicate the recipe for Blue Sky… but there was no other option. Breaking off from Fring would mean no money coming in and would mean that the kingpin would want retribution and to silence the meth cook, probably by targeting his family.

"You're too young to be in the business in any meaningful way, and you're too young to stand up against Fring. What do you want?" Walter banged his hand on the table. "Why are we even here?"

He pointed to the empty café all around them, not even a waitress or waiter in the room.

"Because," Doppio said, rapping his fingers on the table. "I'm going to kill Fring. Then we," the gangster gestured to the two other men who were sitting with him. "We're going to go further. All you need to do is cook, old man. I'll take care of the rest. Now, _where is Fring?"_

Walter shook his head. "No. You're delusional, kid. You can't just kill a man like Fring. The cartels and gangs, they all depend on him and his product. You're—"

"Mr. White," Doppio stood from his seat, annoyed that the meth cook wouldn't believe him. "You have nowhere else to turn. No matter how ridiculous it might be, you're in _real_ danger. You said it yourself, Fring won't stop with just you. He'll get your family as well, and he'll strip you of everything you own. You can't have that."

Walter sighed in frustration and helplessness. The boy, the ridiculous boy with purple hair and a stupid, stupid sweater was somewhat correct. It seemed like a life time ago, but Walter knew that at the beginning of it all, when he had first started to break bad, that he wouldn't have ever put a teenager in such blatant danger. But Walt had _changed_ over the course of his career as a meth cook. He didn't care about some strange kid.

"Two blocks down, there's a laundromat…"

* * *

It was Diavolo who walked into the laundromat, erasing his presence from the minds of the employees and security cameras with King Crimson. The Stand's power was incredible when it came to keeping the paranoid mob boss' identity hidden. He could simply erase the periods of time where someone caught glimpse of him, and knew when and where and how it would all happen thanks to Epitaph. Even cameras, usually infallible when it came to catching intruders, they had their recordings compromised by Diavolo's Stand.

Walking through the workers and the large, industrial sized washing machines and dryers spewing hot, dry air and stinking of detergent and bleach, Diavolo realized that most the workers were _Faunus._ Based on his limited experience in this world and the cursory readings that Doppio had done, it seemed almost certain that these semi-humans, as Diavolo was wont to think of them, were discriminated against. Wasn't that why White Fang had grown to prominence? The Faunus in this world were being mistreated, or were perceiving themselves to be mistreated… and the fervor for justice, for a better, safer life was a powerful motivation that could be taken advantage of.

That was exactly what Diavolo had done while building Passione. He had created the outer façade, the initial appearance of fighting drug crime, earning the support from the unwitting men and women, all the while subversively taking a monopoly over the whole drug enterprise. It was almost like being Robin Hood in a way, taking the illicit money and pumping it back into the community, giving it to his employees so that they could spend as they pleased. Passione's members had all been the downtrodden, down on luck, or just those who did not fit into society in any conventional means. His guards, Secco and Cioccolata, had been such people, and so had Risotto Nero and the other members of La Squadra, even Bruno Bucciarati and his crew had been full of murderers and orphans looking for a place in the world…

A similar thing could be done in Vale, Diavolo decided as he took stock of a man with a pink rat's tail hauling a load of laundry. He cared not one bit for the misery of the oppressed and weak except for how to use it to his advantage. The Faunus would be an easy source of recruits, stoke their hatred, appeal to their lonely poverty, promise them revenge against the humans who discriminated against them, it would be the perfect population for a recruiting ground.

Of course, Diavolo needed to first absorb or eliminate White Fang.

The head of Passione continued his way through the labyrinthine innards of the laundromat, preemptively erasing each moment he would meet a worker or cross the path of a camera, deleting his very existence, every human interaction he had simply gone forever.

It took the crime lord less than a minute to reach the hidden door that served as entrance to the meth lab. Because he could cover distance instantaneously by using King Crimson's time erasure, it made for quick and secure traveling. Diavolo could hear voices from behind the door, but that didn't matter. His identity would be secure even if he didn't use King Crimson's time erase to protect it. Everyone behind the double doors would die.

Once he was through the entrance, Diavolo found himself situated on top of a small platform that led to a stairway, the rest of the lab plain to see over the metal railing. With a large metal stirring rod the size of a broom, the mafioso barred the door shut, twisting the rod into a pretzel for the door could not be opened in anyway.

There were perhaps a dozen workers that Diavolo could make out. All of them dressed in big white suits that covered their bodies, their faces protected behind masks that filtered out the noxious fumes that arose from the lab and the product being created, their nitrile gloved hands pouring and sealing the crystal blue methamphetamine for distribution. It was an efficient operation, perfect even, with how mechanically the workers diligently put their wares away, and Diavolo was impressed. Shame it all had to go.

"King Crimson." Diavolo's Stand appeared by his side, as if it had been eagerly awaiting its masters summon. A series of unused glassware was situated on the door, not yet unpacked from their boxes. With incredible precision and strength, King Crimson threw the assorted glassware, beakers, Erlenmeyer flasks, Thiel tubes and more, towards the various cameras located around the room, disabling them before they could even attempt to capture Diavolo's face. Then, the entire room, the vast factory like floor of the industrial sized meth lab, turned into a massacre. Diavolo skipped time to the point where he was amid the workers, snarling and lashing out with his arms, with his Stand, cutting people in half with angry strikes and crushing their bones, joints, faces under his shoes.

One of the men tried fighting back, reaching back towards a lab counter, and came back clutching in his hand a huge Kjeldahl flask, wielding it like a club. Diavolo didn't even need King Crimson to respond to the threat. Leaving his Stand instead to continue and murder the rest, Diavolo stepped forward with a huge lunge, raising his foot high and planting it in the man's face, causing the glassware to crash towards the ground, break into a million shards of brilliant crystal. The man clutched at his nose, which was obviously broken and the mob boss took that moment of distraction to grab the man by the head and slam him towards the floor, towards the new fields of glass shards that had sprouted like weeds. The man cried out loudly and Diavolo silenced him with a kick to the throat and ground the bleeding head further onto the floor, into the glass, into the hard, smooth concrete.

The workers, they weren't actual gangsters or fighters or anything of the sort. They had simply been hired by Fring to oversee the packaging and transport of the illicit crystal. To them it was a job, a way to make ends meet, none of them thought however, that they'd be losing their lives…

Someone rushed Diavolo with a knife, hoping to catch the man off guard by coming from his blind spot. But the gangster saw it coming ten seconds in advance, the future foretold to him by Epitaph. Diavolo turned and slugged the oncoming man in the side of his head, stepping around the knife and dazing the attacker. Then with a maniacal victory cry, he

King Crimson ripped a man apart, tugging his arm from his body like a child ripping the wings off a fly. The remains splattered to the ground with a wet, slapping noise. Diavolo looked all around at the mess, the dead workers, the plastics packages of methamphetamine coated in sticky, drying coats of blood and gore. The one-sided melee had lasted perhaps a minute, Diavolo didn't know for sure, considering all the times he had used his Stand to reposition himself and sow confusion among the laboratory workers.

His work done, Diavolo looked all around him upon the mess that he had made.

There was a man standing at the top of a stairway, this one leading to a small office compartment in the back of the lab, on the opposite side of the laboratory from the sole entrance and exit. From how the man was dressed, grey suit and blue dress shirt, Diavolo assumed that the man was Fring, watching the carnage with an odd expression on his face, a small knife in his hand.

"Hello there." Diavolo made his way towards the staircase, taking care not to slip on the huge, black slicks of blood. "You are Fring, am I correct?" He asked the man, noting that the drug kingpin was completely human, somewhat past middle aged, no sign of the animal features that Faunus showed.

Initially, the man didn't respond. There was a flicker of panic on his face, but Diavolo noted that it was almost instantly mastered. Fring was a professional, able to control his reactions and expressions to an extraordinary degree.

"Gustavo Fring," the kingpin said slowly. "Are you with the Hunters?" The police wouldn't have been able to accomplish something like this. It was more likely that the intruder was a Hunter, armed with Semblance and Aura. That at least explained for the one-sided conflict between the lab workers and the pink haired man.

"Not with the Hunters, no." Diavolo started up the stairs, one at a time, his expression unreadable. "I'm not here to turn you in, you know. It's more of a… business matter that I've come to discuss."

"You didn't have to kill my men." Gus faltered for a moment and brandished his small knife, a box cutter. "If you've made it this far, I assume you know what I'm doing here. We could have partnered—"

Diavolo didn't want to listen to any reasoning or bargaining for mercy. He could tell that the man was one who would do anything to stay alive, to stay atop of his empire.

"You've seen my face, no?" The Head of Passione was halfway up the stairs now. "My name is _Diavolo,_ and I've made it a policy to kill anyone who knows _anything_ about me. Can you imagine?" King Crimson was floating behind him, menacing as always. "There's not a single person in the world who knows what I look like, what my name is, besides you. Don't you feel special?"

Fring faltered backwards and brandished his box cutter. "If it's money you want," he said calmly, "I can give you money, if that's what you want. I can cut you into the operation if you so please. You don't need to be so irrational about this."

Diavolo laughed, throwing his shock of pink hair cascading around his face. "You idiot. Don't you get it? You're going to die. I'm going to kill you. I am going to replace you." He had King Crimson grab onto the railing of the stairway and bend it in one hand as a showcase of strength.

"No one can replace me," Fring said. "I am the cornerstone of this entire operation. The distribution is done through my franchise, I'm the one who has the connections to the cartels, the dealers, the one who can get all the chemicals needed for the meth in the first place! You… you think you can just come and replace me? Me?"

"The first thing you'll learn, old man," Diavolo reached the top of the staircase and watched as the man turned tail and ran back into his office, the click of the lock audible in the silence of the otherwise empty meth lab. "Is that _everyone_ can be replaced by anyone."

The door, solid and sturdy, wasn't any sort of protection against King Crimson. The Stand punched straight through the door, and reached through the hole, opening the door from the inside.

"Don't be rash," Fring said, one hand on his Scroll as he prepared to call for assistance. "We can work something out." It was unusual for the drug kingpin to be caught so flatfooted. Fring preferred to take the initiative, to wipe out his opponents before they even became threats… but the man who called himself Diavolo, Fring hadn't ever heard of him. It was as if he came out of nothing, out of the ether.

"We can't."

King Crimson floated forward, ignoring the various objects that the man was throwing to stave the Stand away, staplers, pen holders, a mug, folders upon folders of paper, a briefcase full of Lien, scissors— Fring flipped the entire desk and his freakishly calm expression broke into one of fear. The two-faced ghost floated ominously close…

The Stand's grimace turned into a rare grin.

Fring gasped as he found his stomach pierced by a fist, completely impaled through the chest by the overpowering force of King Crimson's lethal punch.

He coughed blood and slumped to the ground as the ghost disappeared, leaving only the dying drug lord and Diavolo in the trashed office.

"Listen now, old man," said the Boss, prodding at Fring's new injury with the tip of his shoe. "This whole fucking thing belongs to me now, alright? I'm going to take your place, I'm going to make it bigger than before, better than before." Diavolo noted idly that the man was trying to crawl away, but was unable to due to the pain of the injury. The man couldn't even cry out for mercy, his lungs had been destroyed. "My name is _Diavolo._ Tell God who sent you."

Diavolo bent down to pick up Fring's Scroll and left the man to bleed to death.

* * *

"Hello?" Walter White picked up his Scroll. There was dread in his stomach like a heavy leaden weight. The caller ID showed that Fring was calling. Had the purple haired boy been found out already? It had only been around an hour since he left… "Fring?"

 _"This is Vinegar Doppio."_ A voice, light and happy, came through the Scroll. _"Fring is dead."_

"You're lying," the genius meth cook began. "There were probably at least a dozen people in the lab today. They're shipping it all out today. Does that mean—"

 _"The workers are dead too."_ The voice said matter-of-factly, not even sounding the least bit concerned. _"There aren't any witnesses."_

Walter was hesitant to believe, especially since the boy that had gone to the laundromat had been so strange and aloof. For Fring to be dead… it certainly left a hole in society, the man had been a successful entrepreneur, and because his drug business was a secret, the community had respected him.

"You don't know what you've just done," Walter said grimly. "Fring's death is going to be investigated, not just by the police, but by the government as well. He was a major player in the drug trade around these parts. And that's not to mention that the cartels will come knocking as well—"

The voice on the Scroll barked with laughter. _"Mr. Heisenberg. None of that matters."_

Walter looked over at Jesse, who had been nursing a small drink, seemingly too depressed to pay attention. "What do you mean?"

 _"The lab is rigged to explode, Mr. Heisenberg. You'll probably see it in a couple of minutes. Just know that Fring is dead now and that you're in charge of his operation,"_ the voice sounded almost proud.

"What?" Walter's blood ran cold. He had wanted to expand his role in the meth trade, scale up from producer to kingpin, but hadn't expected to have a promotion so suddenly. "What do you mean by manage?"

 _"The two of you, Mr. Heisenberg, will take Fring's place. A third of the profit will go to me. Another third will be split between you and Mr. Pinkman. The remaining money will go towards the costs of operation. Anything left over from that third, you can keep."_

It was a lot of money that was being offered, far more than what Fring had been paying him, and Walter wanted so badly to accept. The only thing that remained was to find out more about the mystery caller and the boy from earlier.

"Tell me who you really are." Walter used his best, most intimidating tone of voice. "How should I know to trust you?"

 _"I am who I am. Vinegar Doppio, your senior member here at Passione."_

"Passione?" Walter asked incredulously.

The voice on the phone went silent for a moment.

 _"It's the name of our gang. You and Mr. Pinkman will lead any efforts for narcotics and other such drugs. I'm more of a inbetweener so that the Boss' orders can be followed. Mr. Heisenberg, please understand."_ The boy sounded earnest. _"This isn't just about the meth anymore. We're going to branch out. Protection rackets, kidnapping, assassinations, fraud, prostitution, all the normal stuff."_

"I still don't understand _how_ you're going to accomplish all that. There's no one, no cartel or gang big enough to do what you're claiming. And, I've never even heard of _Passione._ "

 _"You will, Mr. Heisenberg. You'll hear about it soon enough, and I hope that when you_ do _hear about it, you understand just what you're a part of now. I will be collecting my share of money monthly. Thank you for your help."_

The call ended on that note, and Walter was left staring at his Scroll. He sighed and prodded Jesse, who had been sleeping, and the two men made their way to the laboratory.

It was unthinkable that someone just come into their lives and solve their biggest problem, remove the local kingpin Fring and somehow just expect to take his place. Whoever Vinegar Doppio was, Walter did not want to anger him, even if he was just a teenager. No, it was best to keep his head down and earn his share of the money. For someone to kill Fring so casually…

A gout of fire lit up the sky and there came the screaming of metal, brick shattering, windows breaking, people yelling and crying out in panic, pain, the burning of chemicals and concrete and buildings. The explosion turned evening into day for a moment and Walter had to shield his eyes from being blinded. And it had all come from the direction of the laundromat.

 **AN: Chapter 2 done. Took a while and I don't think it's the best of quality. This whole arc was based off the events of Breaking Bad, which is a great TV show. In short, Diavolo has killed Gustavo Fring, a major drug kingpin, and now has established the drug division of his new mafia.**

 **With his first real source of capital, what will our favorite schizophrenic do next in his quest to recreate the former glory of his gang?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

A week later, Doppio found himself waiting tables, on assignment for the Boss.

It was some big party in the lobby of a five-star hotel. Politicians, celebrities, socialites— all sorts of people, all of them rich and famous and important, gorging themselves on rich foods, wines and spirits from fifty years ago, the fat of the land. There was music playing in the background, a professional string quartet and a piano to accompany. Elegant, pretentious notes filled the hall, giving the entire evening an aura of beauty and grace.

Doppio bent his head and took a secret lick at the bowl of lobster bisque on the serving tray that he was carrying. It was tasty, if a little salty. He scanned the room until he found the target, tonight, it was the Police Commissioner. From what Doppio had read on the small pamphlets detailing the events of the night, one of the speeches that night would be on crime, specifically about White Fang and Roman Torchwick and the ruins of the meth lab that the police had discovered a week prior under Gustavo Fring's laundromat.

It was just like he was used to in Italy. The authorities and the rich and the famous, all of them in collusion, working together to do their jobs, build public confidence and all that— precisely the kind of thing that Passione stood against.

So, just for tonight, Doppio was a waiter. Dressed in a clean white tuxedo, hair coiffed all clean and dandy, a false smile on his face— he certainly looked a part of the army of servants that the hotel conjured for the night. Since the event was so large, and because so many people would be in attendance, the hotel had hired perhaps a dozen or so extra waiters, just for the night.

"Hey," Doppio elbowed one of his fellow waiters and gestured to the Police Commissioner, who was seated at a table elevated above the rest. "Do you mind taking a whiskey or something to the guy? I'm busy with this other prick's order, and I don't want him to give me any shit, you know?"

"Got you." The waiter gave Doppio a clap on the back and made his way to the kitchen so that he could get the Commissioner a drink. It was important that Doppio keep sending alcohol the way of the Commissioner. The Boss' plan would begin as soon as the man left for the restroom.

Doppio made his way through the maze of tables and every so often he would secretly pick morsels of food off the plates of distracted diners and plop them in his mouth. No one really paid attention to him, his uniform, marking him as a waiter, made him blend into the crowd, and the attendees of the banquet paid him no attention unless they wanted something from him. It was insulting really, the way that they would wave their money, offering small tips or complaints about service, about the food, how it was too undercooked or had grown cold, that they wanted a replacement, something more, maybe another cocktail, another glass of water… it was the part Doppio hated the most about the job. He had to grovel and pretend to be beneath these people, these pigs who thought they were better than the rest, that they stood above him because of their wealth and place in society— Doppio knew better.

Still, the Boss had asked him to do this, and Doppio would never refuse the Boss.

"Your lobster bisque, sir." Doppio said professionally, trying to mask his distaste. He glanced over the name plate that had been placed on the table, announcing in gold and black lettering to all who cared to read it that the seated had the last name of _Schnee_. So here was the man who owned the Schnee Dust Company… it wasn't surprising that the billionaire was here. In fact, it was to be expected. The other waiters had even muttered that members of royalty would attend the banquet, so why not business men? "Would you like anything else tonight, Mr. Schnee?"

The man shook his head and passed Doppio several Lien.

"No. Nothing more."

Doppio averted his gaze from the man respectfully and played the part of the dutifully and gracious servant, inwardly rolling his eyes. In the distance, away on that high table, he caught glimpse of the Police Commissioner, sipping at a fresh glass of whiskey.

"I hope you have a nice evening, Mr. Schnee." Doppio bowed low and made his way back to the kitchens. It was likely that the Boss would eventually move onto infiltrating the companies and industries of Vale, extend Passione's influence even further into society as he had done in Italy, but now was not the time. The police and other authorities would have to come first.

Doppio slunk towards the bathroom, always keeping an eye on the Police Commissioner who had moved on from the whiskey that Doppio had sent his way, and was now sipping at a glass of wine. _'Old man probably can't hold his piss that long anyways. Almost certain he'll stop by the bathroom before he gives his speech.'_ Off a countertop, he pilfered an unused apron and balled it up, stuffing it into the inside of his suit jacket.

"Hey, guy," Doppio opened the door and tapped the bathroom attendant on the shoulder. At events like these, there was always a worker placed in the bathroom to keep it clean, replace the ice in the urinals, give out mints and towels to the attendees to keep them happy and clean. "You can end your shift early, if you want. I'll take over."

The bathroom attendant must have been drowsing off, because Doppio's touch startled him, causing the man to jolt and bang his head against the wall that he had been leaning against. "What? What time is it?" He said sleepily.

"Almost 8:30, Commissioner Braith is going to give his speech in a couple minutes. Take a break, man. You've earned it." Doppio said in his friendliest tone.

"Okay…" It was strange that the boy just offer to take care of his job, but the attendant wasn't going to complain. "Thanks a lot." And after pushing the heavy bathroom door, the man was gone, leaving Doppio alone in the white and porcelain brilliance.

Doppio made his preparations, turning on a faucet and soaking one of the hand towels that were available for use. Once it was sufficiently wet, he took a fresh bar of soap and sat it in the center of the wet towel. He grabbed the ends of the towel and folded it over to hide the bar of soap.

The bathroom door opened and Doppio smiled to see the Police Commissioner enter, face sweating, muttering to himself about his upcoming speech.

"Would you like anything, sir?" Doppio asked sweetly, silently taking the balled-up apron out of his suit. "A mint maybe? Some gum?"

The Commissioner grunted and turned to a urinal, fumbling with his belt and zipper. "Get me a mint for when I'm done, boy."

Doppio plodded towards the door and tied one end of the apron to the handle, and after prying open the baby changing station, he tied the other end to one of the straps that were now available for use. If anyone wanted to open the door from the outside, they'd have to pull the entire diaper changing unit from the wall.

Doppio palmed the towel that he had prepared earlier, the one with the bar of soap wrapped within, and like a medieval flail, he held either end of the towel in his hands.

"You are Commissioner Braith, am I correct?" Doppio crept close, too close to the man and breathed in his ear, pushing him into the wall, against the urinal, spraying piss against the Commissioner, staining the grey pants and matching suit a darker shade of wet, almost slate. Doppio raised his impromptu flail high above his head, and brought it down violently against the back of the man's head, sending him to the floor. "I'd hate to find out that you're not."

"Wha—" The Commissioner moaned, semi-unconscious.

Doppio pulled the man away from the urinal, frowning at the sharp smell of urine. Maybe he should have waited until after the man had finished…

"Wake up, old man." Doppio brought his makeshift weapon over his head and began to beat the Commissioner about the body. "Wake the fuck up."

After a particularly harsh blow to the sternum, the older man shot up, sputtering. That was what Doppio wanted. Quickly, he grabbed the confused man by the face and forced his mouth open, stuffing the towel and bar of soap in his mouth as a sort of gag.

"Good." Doppio looked upon his work and smiled. Commissioner Braith had a look of complete fear in his eyes, and Doppio could tell that the man was frantically searching for a way out, darting his head this was and that, hoping, yearning for salvation that would not come.

In this bathroom, empty save for two people, Doppio was God.

"Piece of shit," Doppio spat and kicked the man in the stomach, causing him to ball up and groan painfully against the gag. "Show me your wallet."

Trembling and crying with soapy bubbles and drool soaking slowly through the towel-gag, the Commissioner complied. It was a terrible sight, a man perhaps fifty years old, sobbing and fearful at the feet of a teenager, holding his wallet almost as if it was supplication.

Doppio took the fine leather wallet and placed a foot on the man's forehead, firmly pushing him back to the ground. He ignored Braith's muffled pleading and riffled through the wallet, finding credit cards, pictures of his family, a driver's license for one Mr. Jerimiah Braith.

"All right, Braith." Doppio tossed the wallet into one of the urinals, where it rested on a pile of melting ice. "Time for you to listen, okay? I'm going to pull that gag out of your mouth. Then I'm going to beat you some more, then you're going to talk." Doppio grabbed a hold of the towel and wrenched it out from between the two mandibles.

Braith coughed violently, the influx of air too quick for his aching lungs and drool drenched mouth, and vomited a puddle of pink, half-digested meat and alcohol that mingled with his stomach juices to create a tremendous, acrid stench.

"Fucking disgusting." Doppio observed and let the man regain his bearings for a moment. "Commissioner Braith. We've got to talk."

"W-what about?" Braith stuttered, cautiously shifting to a squat. "I haven't—"

Doppio kicked again, this time catching the man in the ribs, sending him toppling back to the floor.

"Don't try and explain anything. I. Don't. Care. I'm going to hurt you no matter what, understand?"

"Please—"

"No begging, old man." Doppio stepped on the Commissioner's hand and ground his foot. "Don't you fucking beg."

Braith went silent save for his sobbing. His sheer terror.

"What are you gonna talk about, tonight?" Doppio asked after a moment's consideration. "You're the opening speech, aren't you?"

The Commissioner nodded his head and wiped his snotty, tear stained face against his sleeve. "I am," he said thickly, "going to talk about crime. About White Fang. About Torchwick and Fring and the drug trade that has been becoming a problem recently… that's my job."

"Okay, limp dick." Doppio stooped down and glared at the man, allowing King Crimson's silhouette to appear behind him as a form of intimidation. "You're going to talk about White Fang and whoever is the problem, okay? Just say some shit about how the police are doing everything they can and shit. You don't say _anything_ about the drugs. You don't do _anything_ about the drugs, _capisce?_ " Doppio reverted to his Italian for a split second.

"What?"

"It means _do you fucking understand,_ asshole." Doppio fought the urge to kick the man again. He couldn't hurt the Commissioner too badly; else people would become suspicious. That was why he had been aiming for the body earlier, where the bruises would be covered up by clothing.

"I— I understand."

For the third time, Doppio kicked the man, fuck the consequences.

"When someone asks you _capisce,_ you're supposed to say _capisce_ back to them, you fucking uncultured savage." Although no one on Remnant had any knowledge of Italian (they all spoke and wrote in English for some inexplicable reason) save for the Boss and himself, Doppio corrected the man just for the Hell of it. "I'm going to take this," Doppio fished the wallet out from the urinal and pulled out the Commissioner's driver's license. "As insurance. I have your address. I know what your kids look like." Doppio removed the polaroid cutouts from the wallet and dropped them to the floor, spitting on them and stomping all over them. "Don't try anything, okay? Their lives are in your hands, old man."

"W-what do you want me to do?"

Doppio turned for the door and began to undo the knot that he had made in the apron to prevent people from opening it from the outside. "I don't give a shit about White Fang or whatever, but you're going to call off the investigation on Fring's meth lab. You're going to leave this room and publicly say that there's no fucking drug problem here in Vale. And you're going to leave _the fuck alone_. Capisce? Not a fucking word about drugs or murders or anything like that. I'll know if you do."

"C-capisce…"

"Good," Doppio nodded and shot a final glare at the Police Commissioner. " _Arrievederci,_ bitch."

* * *

Diavolo had decided long ago that there was no reason to hide the bodies. Tonight, there were four of them, all of them with messy little holes through their chests, put there by King Crimson in quick succession. Diavolo had made sure that the corpses were lined up side by side like those little sardines that came in metal tins, their blood mingling and staining the ugly grey carpet that served as a sort of bed for these dead men. Yes, there was no reason to hide the bodies. Eventually, the someone would come, and that someone would clean the mess and tell the story of these dead men for the world to hear. Then they would wonder, speculate, and _fear_.

Who could prey on the White Fang? These sharks that seemed to prowl the murky depths of society, biting out at any who opposed them, fighting for their own misbegotten goals— what sort of monster could cull the herds of the White Fang that bit and raged against the world?

Diavolo had killed a group of seven earlier that night, eight if one counted the Dust store owner that was in the process of being robbed. The octet lying on the ground in front of the mafioso made it a clean sixteen kills that night. Eleven of the sixteen were members of White Fang, and the rest were just caught in the crossfire, witnesses that Diavolo would not, could not leave alive. A shop owner from the first killings, and then a family of four just now. A father, a mother, and their two children, a little boy of around seven and a baby too young to be able to tell the gender.

The Boss had dragged the bodies of these four unlucky members of White Fang into the home and killed the family that was sleeping inside. All too easy with the powers of King Crimson…

Of course, they had all been Faunus, all except for the shop owner. The family was stuck in some small, cramped tenement housing, either too poor to move anywhere nicer or they couldn't find housing elsewhere. But Diavolo didn't care…

Murder was a nightly occasion for Diavolo now. Once Doppio went to sleep, Diavolo would take control and prowl the streets, hiding from any potential witnesses with the combined powers of King Crimson and Epitaph and murdering any masked men that he happened to chance upon. It was highly cathartic, relieving any of the anger and frustration that invariably built up in Diavolo's mind while he pondered his situation on Remnant, and the loss of his empire back on Italy. But personal satisfaction aside, all these killings, an even forty just this past week, had an additional purpose.

Fear was something that Diavolo was intimately familiar with. His whole tenure as the leader of Passione had been founded on fear, the innate, raw emotional response that all people had when confronted with death and pain. How had he dealt with problems in the past? Diavolo recalled Sorbet and Gelato, two members of _La Squarda_ that had tried to expose his identity. He had tied them up, gagged Gelato and made the man watch as his partner was cut laterally into thirty six separate slices… Gelato had been so afraid that he had swallowed his rag to commit suicide. Then Diavolo had entombed the pieces of Sorbet into glass panels, and sent them to the rest of _La Squarda,_ as a message, a promise of retribution.

That was Diavolo's justice. Fear was the mortar by which Diavolo created his castle, and fear was easily obtained through violence. Even seemingly indiscriminate violence was enough to send a community into disarray, especially one such as Remnant. The focus the people of this world put on martial ability and strength, Diavolo's terror would erode at the trust the people had in the police, in the Hunters, in the very institutions that kept them safe… then they'd be forced to turn to other sources for protection, for assistance, to be the one who guarded them from the violence of other men.

Whatever problem that Vale had with the Grimm, the monsters that gnawed at the warm centers of life that had sprung out of the darkness, Diavolo knew that it was nothing compared to the terror that men could inspire in each other.

It wasn't any shadowy monster that had come and killed these people. It had been Diavolo, and the world at large would soon learn that monsters existed right among their midst.

He downed his drink and rose from his seat, relishing in his power that seemed to grow by the day. Money was pouring in from the drug trade, and with the threat that Doppio had levied against the Police Commissioner earlier, it would be uninterrupted for quite a while, until, at least, someone else caught on. Now the problem was what to do with his new income…

He didn't have his army of Stand users, nor did he have the influence he once had, but Diavolo was getting there, and that was what mattered.

* * *

The shattering of Blake's coffee mug sounded over the bustle of the dining hall. For once the girl wasn't reading. That alone meant something was wrong.

Something had happened.

"You okay, Blake?" Ruby turned to her roommate and frowned. It was early, too early for anything major to have happened, and they were making their way to a table to eat their breakfast. "Something wrong?"

The mentioned girl shook her head slightly, the frown on her face not even wavering.

"Let's go sit down. Yang and Weiss will be waiting for us." Her tone was grim, and the black-haired girl looked truly scared.

"Wait, Blake, if something's wrong, you should tell me," Ruby turned her head, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Just students in the dining hall, the usual groups of tired, sleepy eyed boy and girls, shoveling food into their mouths… "What's up?"

"Overheard something bad," Blake ground out. "Don't worry about it, Ruby. It'll be fine."

But the leader of Team RWBY wouldn't let it go. She had a responsibility, didn't she? As friend and as team leader, she had to make sure her friends were okay.

"Blake… if there's something bothering you, if there's anything I can do to help you, even if it's just listening— I want to do it." Ruby clasped the hidden Faunus by the shoulders and peered into her amber eyes. "Please. Just talk to me."

But the black-haired girl turned her head and pursed her lips. "Not here. There's too many people listening." Roughly, Blake broke from Ruby's grasp and began pulling the younger girl towards the hall, searching for a lonely corner where they hopefully wouldn't be overheard.

There were people here, not as many as in the dining hall, but just a smattering of late risers and people leaving to prepare for class. It wasn't an ideal place for a clandestine conversation, but Blake deemed it to be okay.

"Here, Ruby," Blake pulled her teammate to sit on a bench and proceeded to bring out her Scroll. "Watch. Tell me what you think."

Ruby nodded slowly, not quite understanding but wanting to.

It was the Vale News Network, the familiar face of Lisa Lavender contorted into something frightful and grim.

 _"Murder has come to Beacon City for the fourth night in a row. Police are reporting that they found yet another group of Faunus murdered. The images you are about to see are gruesome, so we advise any of our younger listeners…"_

"Blake, what—" Ruby began, confused.

"Sixteen just yesterday, Ruby. Fifteen Faunus killed." Blake whispered and pointed towards the Scroll, directing her companion to pay close attention to the images flashing on the screen. Bodies, eight of them, sundered and destroyed. Blood and plasma crusting the carpet to a flaky, hard, biscuit like form, each step the police investigators and forensics teams took drawing a faint crackling sound. "Look, Ruby."

But Blake didn't need to point anymore. The camera panned upwards, away from the corpses and pointed straight at a wall. The old, dry paint all flaking and dead, splashes of maroon rejuvenated the dead beige color.

Lisa Lavender began again. _"The message left by the criminal, or criminals, who perpetrated this heinous deed isn't very clear, but it reads as follows: 'Where is your_ PASSIONE? _'_ _Similar messages have been found at crime scenes all around the city. Police are urging for calm and quiet while they begin their investigation into this strange murder spree… if you have any information—"_

Blake shut off her Scroll and stared at Ruby. "Forty in the last week," she said softly, tears in the corners of her eyes. "Can you imagine? Whoever's doing this is targeting _Faunus_. They hate us— I mean, _them,_ that much. What's wrong with this country?"

Ruby didn't really know how to comfort her friend. Murder, _serial_ murder, was not something that she had been expecting. Sure, it was something terrible, but why was it affecting _Blake_ so badly? Ruby didn't know.

"And I'm stuck _here_." Blake said thickly, looking around at the hallways of Beacon Academy. "Safe and doing _nothing_ about this."

"There's nothing you _can_ do about it, Blake." Ruby said gently. "There's nothing to do but wait for the police, or maybe even the Hunters to find out whoever's doing this awful thing. We're just students, aren't we?"

* * *

"Headmaster, I assure you, none of my officers have even seen the person you're describing. A teenage boy with purple hair? Absurd. And besides, we've had our hands full for the past week…" the voice of Police Commissioner Braith sounded nervous through Ozpin's scroll. "Sorry I can't be of much help. Too many murders, Headmaster. And on top of that, we must deal with Torchwick and White Fang and the string of robberies as well. I hope you understand. We're hard at work here."

The Headmaster nodded. "I understand. Thank you for your time…"

The call ended and Ozpin let out a sigh he had been holding for a while. It was bothering him immensely. That boy that had been in the hospital that day, the purple haired Vinegar Doppio. Ozpin didn't have any evidence to support his suspicions that Doppio was involved with the sudden uptick in violent and drug related crimes, but Ozpin did have decades of intuition and instinct that pointed him towards the boy.

Something was off with that one.

Pacing the room, Ozpin thought of the first and only time the two had spoken, two weeks ago in that hospital room. The boy had been found injured, not terribly so, but injured nonetheless. No documentation, no family, no connection to this world… and yet there was a power that the boy had that Ozpin couldn't puzzle together.

It wasn't a Semblance, in fact, Doppio hadn't even had a 'correct' Aura from what Ozpin could sense. What sort of power allowed one to summon a ghost?

But more than that, what could that ghost do?

Ozpin didn't know, and he found himself worried.

"A Stand. That's what he called it…" But Ozpin had studied and searched for this term, scouring both the library and his own personal collection of books for any hints as to what it was… _A manifestation of the soul_ was the poetic term that the boy had used. Like a Semblance or Aura, but very different in presentation.

And the murders…

White Fang and their robberies, acts of terror in the name of equality and justice for Faunus, while terrible that was, it paled in comparison to the blood shed that seemed to be growing in the city. Forty in the past four days. An average of ten people killed every night.

Ozpin didn't know what it meant, and he didn't have any clue as to _why_ all these murders were happening, why Hunters were reporting that drug related crime seemed to suddenly explode overnight, or even how the young Vinegar Doppio was related to everything. Ozpin didn't know much, and that was the danger. His instinct told him that the boy was involved, those with silver eyes were _always_ involved.

Slowly, he picked up his Scroll and dialed a number. It took a while for the call to be answered, but Ozpin was used to that by now.

"Qrow," Ozpin's voice came smoothly, didn't betray anything about his own apprehensions. "We need to talk."

There was laughing and yelling in the background. The sounds of partying.

"What do you want, Ozpin?" Qrow Branwen replied with a hiccup.

So he was drinking again, was he?

"Somewhere quiet, Qrow. This is important." Usually Ozpin was very tolerant of Qrow's antics, but today was not the day.

From Qrow came a huge, exasperated sigh and the sliding of wood on wood, moments of crowded yelling, the slamming of a door. Someone grunted loudly and then water rushed to wash away the contents of the toilet. A bathroom.

"Alright, Ozpin, make it quick. Smells like shit in here." Qrow sounded nasally, as if he was holding his nose.

"Just a couple of questions, Qrow," Ozpin took a small breath and sip of his coffee. "You have been keeping atop of recent happenings, correct?"

"Of course," Qrow scoffed. "Just because I drink a little doesn't mean I'm useless! You're starting to sound like your secretary—"

Ozpin didn't feel like trading barbs and jokes today. "You know of the killings then?"

"Gang warfare, Ozpin, nothing more than that," the Hunter sounded annoyed. "We should be happy for it. At least _someone_ is fighting against the White Fang, God knows that the police can't do anything." There was some sadness in his tone, Qrow detested killing.

But while Ozpin didn't agree with what Qrow was saying, there was some truth to the Hunter's statement. This new force, this _Passione,_ was opposing White Fang, and apparently was powerful enough to wage open warfare on the terrorist Faunus organization.

"That's beside the point," Ozpin barreled past all the distractions and annoyances. "You've heard of Passione then? What do you make of it?"

"I've _heard_ Ozpin. I don't know much about them. They've only been around for what, a week or two? Not even that?"

Yes, a week or two. Ozpin knew that. The beginning of this entire ordeal, the heightened aggressiveness of the illegal drug trade, the dispatch of the king pin of said drug trade, and all these _killings_ , it all coincided with the arrival of Vinegar Doppio. A boy with no ties to anyone, who claimed to be from another world, who had some mysterious power that Ozpin had never even heard about— it was far too serendipitous.

Still, this connection was one that Ozpin had not wanted to make. If Vinegar Doppio was in fact the person behind the rise in crime, then it was Ozpin's fault for neglecting to stop it. The boy, after all, had been in the hospital that night when he was found. If only Ozpin had brought him to Beacon, imprisoned him, done _something_.

Ozpin shook his head. It wasn't good to think about the what if's. The fact of the matter was that Ozpin had done all he could. He had left him in hospital care, had requested that the hospital disallow the boy from checking out, but that had failed. Doppio had escaped anyways. And besides, there had been so much to account for; the Fall Maiden, the Grimm, White Fang, the start of a new school year… one young boy did not seem at all important.

"Ozpin… you there?" Qrow's voice was like a hammer, awakening Ozpin from his daze.

"Sorry, I was thinking."

"Must be some serious business if it's got you in this much thought."

The Headmaster began slowly. "Qrow, have you ever heard of a Stand?" The boy, Vinegar Doppio had displayed his as a boon for having him brought to the hospital, and while intriguing, Ozpin had written it off as a quirk, a mutation of Aura or Semblance.

The silence was deep save for the running of a faucet. "Can't say I have. What is it?"

"He called it 'the manifestation of the soul'. Sounds like a Semblance, but it isn't the same. When the boy showed me, it was some sort of spirit that responded to his commands, some ghostly figure of a man that could be called and dispelled on whim—"

"What _boy,_ Ozpin?"

"The boy that Glynda found on the night where your own niece confronted Torchwick. He was of middling height… a strange boy, Very strange. He called himself Vinegar Doppio."

"Well…" Qrow sounded hesitant, confused even. "I'll keep an eye out for you. But don't you think a missing persons case is more along the lines for the police?"

Ozpin sighed in agreement. "I suppose you're right. Just… call me if you find anything strange, anything about _Stands,_ about Vinegar Doppio."

He hung up soon after and sat in his chair for a long while, trying to shake the feeling that he had released some unspeakable evil into the world. But what sort of devil could one young boy truly be?

* * *

"So you want to join Passione?" Doppio stared down the Faunus, making his way towards them slowly and carefully to not step in the puddles of blood that were growing and running in the grout lines of the cobbled street. It was evening now, just past dinner time, and Doppio had just finished collecting the drug money and greasing the right palms, all on the Boss' orders.

It had been three members of White Fang that had approached him, Doppio could easily tell by the masks hanging at their belts and animal like traits. Initially the young gangster had considered them a threat and had immediately attacked, seriously maiming one before the other two backed off and explained themselves.

"Yes!" The dog Faunus said quickly. "We want to join."

Doppio sighed as he watched the two uninjured Faunus patch up their friend. It was strange to see how quickly they were growing. Must have been the Boss' doing, or maybe Pinkman and White had spread the word…

Anyway, it was always better to have more members, even if the Boss preferred quality over quantity. Sometimes at these beginning stages, Doppio reasoned, manpower was the most important thing.

"Why? Why do you want to join? Aren't y'all members of White Fang?" Doppio toed one of the fallen masks, one from the man with a missing hand, and crushed it under his heel, shattering it. "How'd you find out about us anyhow?"

The two uninjured Faunus shared a look, still somewhat distracted with their friend, bleeding and crying on the ground.

"It was the drugs at first. It's…" the dog Faunus who seemed to be the defacto leader of the trio was speaking. "Blue Sky is really popular nowadays, not just with druggies and methheads, but it's getting popular with young people too. It's easy money. But…"

"But what?" Doppio prompted.

"Can't get any to sell," the Faunus complained. "Distributors only give out enough to use, never anything bigger than a couple grams—"

Doppio crossed his arms. "Doesn't explain why you guys want to join."

A low moan escaped from the mouth of the handless Faunus.

"Get that fucker to a hospital. Tell them he fell down the stairs or some shit," Doppio spat. "You. Dog man. You stay."

And once the two other Faunus left, Doppio turned back to the one that had remained.

"Why _Passione_?"

The man looked abashed, afraid without his companions to back him up. He began to stutter.

"Well?" Doppio asked after a moment.

Finally, the dog Faunus composed himself. "Money mostly. Safety too. And… I can tell that things are about to change soon. Some fuck goes around killing White Fang members? We know—" but the Faunus realized that his friends were gone. "I know that it's not because they're Faunus. You guys, Passione, you're the _real deal_. You guys are just trying to get rid of the competition. I don't want any more slinking around trying to rob Dust shops. I want to join."

"You just trying to jump ship then? You feel the wind blowing? You feel the _Passione?_ You're right, you know? We're taking out White Fang members. So why would you come crawling to us? I could've killed you."

"But you didn't," the Faunus pleaded desperately. "And you let my friends go. I know you're not going to kill me. And— there's nowhere else to go. I joined White Fang cause there was nothing else! I needed money to eat, to pay my mother's medical bills, and people wouldn't hire me! You see these fucking ears?" The dog Faunus pawed at the top of his head, two sharp towers, the cropped ears of a Doberman pinscher. "They don't want to see us! _They_ don't want to have anything to do with us!"

"Stop," Doppio held out a hand and smiled. _This_ was what Passione was. The consuming desire to do good for one's self and for one's community, even in the face of death. The Boss had made that clear to Doppio early on. Why else would a mafioso take time to nurture and mentor a young boy? The Boss was truly a benevolent man. This Faunus in front of him wanted to take care of his mother? So be it. "You gave a good answer."

The Faunus looked happily confused, optimistic even. "Wait, so…"

"Your first assignment," Doppio handed the Faunus a Lien card, there was only around three thousand or so on there, but Doppio knew that it was a fortune for people like the dog standing in front of him. "Let them all know. Let everyone, human or Faunus, let them know that Passione will take 'em in. If they're tired of being treated like dirt, if they're tired of sacrificing day in and day out to give their families a life that can't really be called life… Passione will take them in. Give us your tired, your poor huddled masses…"

The Faunus blinked once, twice, had the boy's eyes just changed color?

They had an army now. Doppio knew that once this message started being spread on the streets, the desperate Faunus and people of Vale would come crawling. And through their work, Passione would raise them up so that they could stand on their own to legs again, truly make them into a force that could be respected. It had happened in Italy, and it would happen in Vale. No matter the world, people always stayed the same.

* * *

"Did you find him yet, Roman?" A young girl asked an older man, and despite her youth and innocent beauty, she seemed to have a rare authoritativeness about her. "The one who's been killing all the White Fang members? The," Cinder licked her lips, almost a sign of nervousness, "the one who calls himself _Passione_?"

Roman, usually so suave and witty and talkative, was tired. All he wanted to do was sit down and _maybe_ get some sleep after a long day of work, but _no._ His employer just _had_ to be there, asking all her stupid questions.

"No, Cinder. I haven't," Roman said baldly. "Passione isn't just one guy you know, it's a group. I heard from one of the mutts that they're having a recruitment drive. Like, genius, you know? Kill a bunch of White Fang members, _then_ ask them to join you! What could go wrong?" Sarcasm and ill-will flooded his tone. His life had been hard enough as is without a rival group to contend with. And with that monster roaming the streets… well at least he had promised that he wouldn't talk about _him._

"I take it then; his recruitment has been unsuccessful?" Cinder asked, smiling to herself over Roman's frustration. She had never liked the man.

"I told you, _Passione_ isn't just one person. It's a group. They control all the drugs and shit in the city now." How they had managed that, Roman did not know. Even he, a man who was considered to be the greatest criminal in Vale, hadn't even heard of Passione until their recent debut a couple of weeks ago. How the Hell had they managed to usurp the drug trade in two weeks? A multi-billion Lien industry all in the control of one, unknown group. Roman would have shivered if he wasn't so tired. "I don't know what kind of strength they'll have now. That message about recruitment into Passione was put out only a couple hours ago."

Cinder shook her head. That wasn't the answer she was looking for. "Yes, Roman. I understand that. What does it mean for _us?_ For White Fang?"

Roman wanted to yell. Hadn't she heard? Didn't she care? Passione had all but declared war on White Fang, if the nightly murders were anything to go by. The threat of attack by this unknown variable had put a damper on his Dust collecting plans.

"I told you. We don't know what the fuck we're up against. I know you don't think much of me," Roman ranted, angry and annoyed, "but I know how this shit works, okay? This?" The orange haired man gesticulated all around, "all this is my job. I'm not about to risk myself without any more information. It's too dangerous. At least the Hunters we know how to deal with. This, this _Passione,_ I don't know anything about."

Cinder took an aggressive step forward, frowning. "Don't take that tone with me Torchwick. If it's information you need, find some information. Don't sit here all night on your ass."

Roman sighed. As if it were that easy… the things he had seen tonight. But he didn't want to talk anymore. He just wanted to sleep and forget and be rid of his insipid employer.

She'd see it on the news tomorrow anyways. All of Vale would.

Cinder left the room soon after and Roman sighed, trying his best not to remember anything about the past couple hours…

* * *

 _A couple hours ago_

Roman knew from the shop owner's expression that something was wrong. Who the Dust smiles while they're being robbed?

And from the silence that reigned heavy as a tyrant was another signal that something was wrong. The chatter of his goons was absent. The slide of glass on metal and wood as heavy containers of Dust were moved was replaced by the breath of the air and the cold clacking steps of shoes on tile.

The night seemed to turn to winter. The moisture in Roman's mouth turned to flakes of ash, burning and acrid and hellishly dry.

He didn't dare turn around.

"Shopkeeper." A ghoulish voice called out. "Have you seen my face?"

What? Roman didn't know what to make of it, and he was tempted, so tempted to just turn around to confront the newcomer. But he didn't. Instinct told him that it was death if he did so, and Roman, for all his criminal wrong doings, always listened to his instinct.

It saved his life. The only thing that Roman saw of that mysterious man was the long, distorted shadow that had been cast by the moon.

The newcomer, the monster, _someone_ threw something, something wet and heavy, something—

Roman flinched as a body, the body of one of his henchmen, slammed into the wall, knocking dozens of jars of Dust to the ground. But even this wasn't enough to make Roman turn around.

"I asked you a question, shopkeeper."

With Melodic Cudgel pressed so deeply in his throat, the shopkeeper couldn't answer but to let out a muffled, choking plea for help.

The man sighed. "Shoot him."

"What?" Roman's voice pitched upwards. "You mean, me?"

"Yes. Shoot the man. I do not wish to take any chances."

Roman hadn't been planning on killing the shop keeper so long as he cooperated, and his pride screamed at him to rebel, to disobey this Hellish voice that was commanding him to murder.

"Fuck… why?" Why would a stranger walk in and demand that Roman kill someone? "Why the fuck should I do that?" Roman tried his best to act confident and slick as he always was, but couldn't muster up anything but fear. This was a sort of fear that he hadn't felt in a long time. This was the fear of death and the scrotum tightening chill of Hell that came with it. "Who the Hell are you?"

"You'll thank me for _not_ telling you," the voice said numbly. "Shoot the man."

So despite the shaking of the shopkeeper's head and the tears running down his eyes, Roman fired Melodic Cudgel, sending blood and bone and brain all over the wall, spattering back onto his weapon, onto his white suit, into his hair and onto his face, all over— his mouth? Roman turned his mouth to the ground and spat violently. For a moment he stared at the pink spotted slick that landed next to his shoe.

"Well done. Don't turn around now. You're doing so well." The man sounded almost amused, his deep voice rumbling. "Just stare at the ground like you're doing right now."

Roman did just that. "Who are you?"

The voice sighed. "People always ask the wrong questions… You must be the famous Mr. Torchwick, correct?"

"Yeah. What about me? You aren't a Hunter, are you?" But that was a silly question. Roman knew just from how the room had turned to ice when the man had entered. What the Hell kind of Hunter would be so fucking terrifying? And why the Hell would a Hunter tell him to shoot a man?

"No. I am not," the voice paused for a moment. "It is an honor to be in your presence, Mr. Torchwick."

Roman laughed. "Thanks," he ground out shakily, "always nice to meet a fan." The tension only deepened when the voice chuckled back.

"Yes, you _could_ say that, couldn't you?"

Roman gulped, swallowing nothing but making a sound as if the entire ocean had rushed in to fill a gigantic void. "Listen, man. I don't know who you are. You obviously don't want me to know. How about you just let me go, yeah? Just… why don't we both leave? If it's the money or Dust you want, you can take it, okay?"

There was a moment of transcendent silence that made Roman wonder if the man had somehow disappeared.

"No. Of course the money is mine. You may keep both the Dust and your life if you choose to cooperate."

"Alright, champ." Roman stuttered. "What d'you want?"

"Why do you work with White Fang? Surely these apes are below the skill level of a man such as yourself. I have a hard time believing that you need them, and an even harder time believing that you actually _care_ about them."

Somehow, the man's deductions had been spot on. Roman was in this for the money. And for the fact that Cinder would likely have him killed for betraying her.

"Money, mostly."

"Ah, of course." The voice hummed. "You know who I am?"

"I…" Roman carefully considered his words. "No. I don't know who you are."

"Good answer. I am a… representative of Passione. Have you heard of us?"

Nodding dumbly, Roman spoke to the wall. "Yeah. All good things. You guys are great, really great."

More silence.

"I do not appreciate lies, Mr. Torchwick."

Roman wiped sweat. He didn't know it could be so cold.

"Sorry," he stuttered. "We heard about you guys around the time the murders started."

"What do you think?"

"I don't know enough." Roman answered honestly. "All I know is that you guys killed some White Fang members and some people who, I guess, got caught up in the middle of whatever it was that you were doing. Nothing against you, honest. It's all business, right?"

"I suppose so." The voice hummed for a moment before letting out a tremendous sigh. "Mr. Torchwick, it was a pleasure. Consider this an open invitation to join Passione. Please, contact us when you feel ready."

"Join? What? I thought—" That dread presence disappeared, and somehow, Roman knew that it was alright to turn around. His eyes darted from pool of moonbeam to pool of moonbeam, puddle of blood to shard of glass to glint of Dust. But no man. No speaker. No monster to trouble him. Melodic Cudgel was laying against the ground, but he didn't even remember putting it down, or even hearing it drop. What had happened? How had that man just disappeared?

Roman was confused and tired and most of all scared. With the corpses of his men all around him, he knew that it was time to leave. He had brushed against the devil himself that night, and Roman was just happy to be alive.

 **AN: College is done and I have returned.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: How the world was made**

 _Several eternities ago_

Two souls, marked by fate, branded by destiny itself to war forever and always. Even the end of the world couldn't stop that. Even the death of time and space itself couldn't break these monster souls away from their bloody conflict. And, while it was blasphemy to say aloud, even God couldn't tear these souls from one another. Pucci knew this because he had tried. For all intents and purposes, the priest was God. Residing now in a realm far beyond the reach of normal human beings, thinking and moving at what seemed to be tens of billions of years every minute. The _Heaven_ that he had reached was a beautiful, terrifying thing.

Yet, for all of Pucci's perfection, his Heaven, the completion of his master's wishes— none of that seemed to be enough to separate these two twin souls. Pucci wanted to create a world, a utopia, where everyone knew in their _bones_ their destiny. With no uncertainty and the future known by each individual, there would be no suffering, no pain, no fear. With enough repetitions, enough pruning's, enough micromanaging, Pucci could create a life that was the best possible outcome for _everyone_. Every last human being ever to be born could have a life that they were happy with, it wasn't as if Pucci was going to run out of time. He was faster than time itself…

But these two souls would not cooperate. It was a curious thing, Pucci thought to himself, out of the billions upon billions of souls that cooperated, that were able to be shaped and prodded into their correct, righteous path of life— these two stood out as different, as _special_.

So, on the twelfth iteration, the twelfth universal reset, Pucci decided to solve the problem of the warring souls.

* * *

"You will not remember this. This is the origin story, after all."

Diavolo panicked. An unfamiliar voice, an all-consuming light, and he had nowhere to hide. Someone, whoever it was, would discover him, _had_ discovered him.

"King Crimson!" Nothing. His Stand was unavailable to him. Why? What had happened? "Epitaph!" Again there was nothing, no vision of the future presented to him. Diavolo strained himself and tried to transform into his alternate personality. He hated to throw Doppio into such a strange situation, but nothing seemed to work. His agony continued, but the brightness of the world abated, and soon his eyes could see.

"This is an important place to me."

Diavolo swerved his head and let out a choked scream of anguish. He was in a chapel, nestled among the pews, and at the pulpit stood a tall man, short cropped hair in a strange pattern that made a star on his forehead. A man of the cloth, if his uniform was anything to go by.

"You're lucky to be here."

"You fucking bastard," Diavolo scrambled to his feet and rushed towards the man, knocking over a basin of consecrated water and a tall candelabrum. "You _saw_ me!"

"Violent, aren't we?" The priest spoke fondly, as a father would speak to a child.

And before Diavolo could reach the priest and tear his body in two, he was sent barreling backwards into the wooden pews, colliding painful against the furniture.

But Diavolo didn't care about the pain. He stood again to kill the man, and while his mind recognized that the pale half-centaur that floated besides the black priest was a Stand, he didn't care. His wrath was all consuming and still too little to make a difference.

"I'm curious as to what turned you into such a monster. Who are you?"

Diavolo screamed as he was sent flying once again. Whatever the priest's Stand was, it was fast, faster than anything Diavolo had thought possible.

"Don't bother, fighting against a Stand user when your own Stand is unavailable? It is useless. Even if you had your own Stand here, it would be no match for my Made in Heaven."

It should have been impossible. Diavolo stood again, this time shakily, unable to run at the priest. His body was covered in wounds, scrapes from the hard stone floor, splinters from pews that had broken under his weight.

"Fuck you," Diavolo panted out. "I'm going to kill you."

The priest shook his head. "What a thing, to threaten a man of the cloth. If you will not introduce yourself, I will have to take initiative." The priest stepped forward, his raiment, a deep purple color, turned a glorious shade of red-black by the dying sun that shone through the stained glass. "My name is Enrico Pucci. If you do not feel comfortable in giving me your name, you do not need to."

Diavolo was frothing at the mouth. Who was this man to belittle him in such a way? He was the _Emperor_ , damn it! _He_ was the one who stood at the peak of the world, the untouchable, unassailable Boss of Passione!

"What is happening here, _padre?_ What the fuck is this?"

"I told you, didn't I?" Pucci smiled and gestured to the chapel all around. "This is the room where I met my God. The place where I witnessed my first, true miracle."

" _I don't care about that!_ " Diavolo screamed his fury. " _Why am I here? What the fuck happened to me?_ " For a desperate moment, Diavolo recalled his defeat at the hand of that infernal boy, that dread monster who dared challenge him, the Emperor. Giorno Giovanna… how long had he died for? How many countless repetitions? How many times could a single man die within an hour? A day? A year? How many years had it been?

"You were dying, son." Pucci said gravely. "You are so far from God's love. And yet…" the priest thought to himself. "There is a fire about you that I cannot place. Tell me, do you believe in「 ** _Gravity_** 」?"

Gravity?

Diavolo did not understand what the priest was talking about. He didn't want to understand any of this bullshit. All he wanted was a way out, to kill this asshole clergyman, his Stand back, his position as Boss back, _he just wanted his life back._

"I don't know what crazy shit you're talking about, _padre_." He spat the priest's title out like a curse. "But I don't appreciate you doing this. I just wanna get back to my life and finish the business I got to finish, alright?"

But the priest just gave him a sad smile and shook his head. "That's not possible, I'm afraid."

"The fuck do you mean it's not possible."

It was a tragedy, Pucci decided, that the man not accept his fate. Probably because of the uniqueness of his soul. Pucci could feel it, the fragmented of it, how the man in front of him had been through great suffering and had, at some point in his life, been forced to pry his own soul in two to survive.

Admirable, but tragic, nonetheless. There was no place for broken souls in the heaven that Pucci was creating.

"You've died too many times. All this death has marked you. Know I don't know _why_ or how you were subjected to such torture, but it is over. I have ended it."

Before Diavolo could utter another angry word, he thought of what the priest was claiming. He had ended it? The eternal death loop? Impossible. Not even Diavolo could have counteracted the power of Gold Experience Requiem. And this priest had the temerity to claim otherwise…

"You… you're lying." Diavolo forced himself to bark in laughter, "isn't that a shame? A priest lying? We _are_ in a church, you know."

"No lie. You know it yourself," Pucci said patiently. "I can see it in your eyes. You know you've lost. You know you're dead."

"Then why am I here? How the fuck am I here?" Diavolo asked, falling to his knees, confronted by the past that he could not erase. "Why the fuck have you brought me here? Tell me, Father!"

Pucci's smile disappeared and a look of annoyance came about his face. "My Stand, Made in Heaven, is allowing me to _fix_ the world. I am bringing about a _paradise_ , for all people. You, somehow, along with another soul, are exempt from that. Unlike the rest, I cannot simply _fix_ your life. I cannot make you forget the sorrow of your original life, and without that, I cannot give you the _peace of mind_ that I wish to. You are… strange. You and your rival, neither of you ever remember your fates, no matter the circumstance that I place you two in."

"Get to the fucking point," Diavolo seethed. He wanted nothing more than to rid the world of this charlatan, but King Crimson was somehow unavailable to him.

"I asked you about「 ** _Gravity_** 」earlier. Do you remember?"

Diavolo nodded.

"Good. That「 ** _Gravity_** 」is why you are here.「 ** _Gravity_** 」has led you to me. You may call it an act of God, or _Fate,_ but whatever you wish to call it, this destiny that lies in your very blood has brought you to me just as in every world I create, you and your rival cause great, unprecedented harm to the world. Fate has asked me to save you."

"I don't need saving. Not from any priest or God or anyone," Diavolo stated stubbornly. "Let me go."

The priest finally began showing signs of frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose while sighing. "Look. You don't understand, do you? The world you knew is gone. Will be gone forever. That imperfect, tragic, sinful world will never be ever again. _I_ am the one who is fixing it. And if you want a chance to redeem your shattered soul, you will listen." Pucci waved his hand and on the ground appeared another human being. A teenager, one will purple hair and a soft, gentle countenance. A boy who Diavolo knew very well.

"Impossible…" he stuttered out. How was it that Doppio was here, now? Separate from Diavolo, living, breathing as a separate entity?

"Possible," Pucci shook his head. "I don't know the situation by which you splintered your soul, nor can I tell which is original or derivative. All I can say is that somehow a fragmented soul came to be in one body, was torn apart by some wicked magic, and now, will be joined again."

Diavolo couldn't contain himself. Despite him being the all mighty Don of Passione, he cared for Doppio in a way that was more fundamental than the simple professionalism that arose between them. Doppio was everything that Diavolo couldn't afford to feel, every innocence, every happy moment, every bit of love that had to be expunged from Diavolo's cold, dead heart— that was what Doppio was. The innocence that Diavolo had sacrificed so that he could fulfill his ambitions. Doppio was what Diavolo should have been at 18.

He fell to the floor, kneeling, beside his closest confidant.

"Doppio," the Boss' voice came out so softly, so tenderly. "I'm so sorry. They killed _us_."

The priest was silent for a minute. "You would like a second chance, would you not?"

But even this was a lie, one that Diavolo did not detect due to his desperation to have some sort of twisted redemption. It wasn't a second chance that Pucci was offering, but an exit. There wasn't any way for Pucci to make an entirely original universe, that was not how Made in Heaven worked. For exceptions like the pink haired man? There was no fate but destruction that Pucci was willing to dole out. If _Pucci_ killed someone personally, they would be erased from the existence, replaced by substitutes with different souls and personalities. Then there would be no problem, and Pucci's _Heaven_ could continue without and oddities to populate it.

"Of course, I would." Diavolo said this, not only out of selfish greed and desire to get back _on top_ , but also out of sincere regret over Doppio's untimely death. "I would do anything to have a second chance."

"Then stand," Pucci motioned Diavolo upwards with an outstretched hand. Diavolo stood with the too pale Doppio limp in his arms, the sun coming from the blue stained glass behind him wreathed the pair in terrible flames, a ghastly halo surrounding the mobster and his subordinate. Pucci noted that the strange man with flaming pink hair had a soft, sad expression on his face, a far cry from the initial rage. He looked like Joesph of Arimathea, holding the dead corpse of his most God… "I'm doing this because everyone deserves a clean fate. Because you will not learn… I will give you a chance to _end_ your fate. End your conflict with your _rival_."

Diavolo looked at the priest, strange gratitude and confusion appearing. "What do you mean by rival?" Diavolo asked. "All my life, I have never had anyone challenge me. I am invincible."

"No," Pucci pursed his lips. "You are not. Even a man named after _God_ may die. There is no invincibility past that which is proven. You are dead, my friend. You are not invincible."

And the Devil frowned. "Who is then, my rival?"

"Some man who was instrumental in your death, no doubt." For the first time that entire meeting, Pucci smiled and rubbed his hand against the frame of a great triptych that sat behind the altar. "I don't even know your name. It's only fair, isn't it? You will have a second life, a continuation of the one that came before, to settle your debts. I can only wish you luck in this new world you will learn to live in."

" _Padre_ ," Diavolo said softly.

"Yes, son?"

And even though the dark-skinned priest couldn't have been any more than 5 years older than himself, Diavolo was reminded of the old clergyman who had taken him in, the only father he had ever known.

"Thank you."

Made in Heaven appeared again, a terrifying horseman, the sad intent of death written on the horse's mouth, an impasse grin on the face of the rider. It moved and with a simple strike, cut both Diavolo and Doppio down, killing them, removing them from the universe.

Where they went, even the priest did not know.

* * *

"Headmaster," a young man began calmly. "Would it trouble you if we spoke somewhere where we could eat? I am quite hungry." Across from him was Ozpin, the Headmaster of Beacon.

The young man didn't care about his hunger or even his own health. The fact of the matter was that he was in an enclosed space, the Headmaster's office, a place where he knew nothing of the potential danger or situation. Bruno was in deep shit and he knew it. The subtle plea for food implied warmer, more public settings. This was a school, was it not? A cafeteria was always an option. Without witnesses, the young man risked anonymous death.

He had been a gangster for almost the past decade and with those years of violence came experience. The media might have portrayed the mafia as a shadowy organization running about the back alleys and sketchy streets, but that was not the case. Most of the time transactions and discussions took place in public so neither party could betray the other so easily.

"Now, now," the silver haired Headmaster said placatingly, "Mr. Bucciarati, can't it wait until after our discussion? I promise, there will be a time to eat. But for now," Ozpin rapped his knuckles against the table, "it is time to talk. You know what about."

"I am at your mercy, sir." Bruno nodded and acquiesced. While Sticky Fingers would have made escape fairly simple, Bruno did not think that he could fight the Headmaster and his goons alone. At this stage, it was the world against him.

Ozpin smiled sadly. "Not much of a choice, isn't it? I must apologize for this. The last time I gave a stranger too much leeway… well, I fear that I made a grave mistake, and I try my very best never to repeat a mistake."

The threat wasn't lost on him. He wasn't naïve.

"Ask away, Headmaster. I will do my best to answer."

And that was all that anyone could ask of the boy. Ozpin knew this because they had looked up his name in every record they could think of.

"Firstly, Bruno," Ozpin took a sip of his coffee and began pouring one for the young man across from him. "Where are you from?"

And Bruno didn't want to say. He knew already that he was far away from home. He knew that the moment he stepped foot onto what they called a BullHead, the aircraft was far too technologically advanced to be from his Earth. And that wasn't to say anything about the strange names that everyone had, the absolutely alien culture, the alien looking people, and of course… the Grimm.

"You're from Italy, aren't you Mr. Bucciarati?"

Bruno nearly spat. For a minute he coughed and sputtered as the hot coffee went down his windpipe. How did some school teacher know of Italy?

"I am," Bruno said quietly. It sank in just then that he was alone.

"I can't say I've heard much of the country, but does _Leonardo Da Vinci_ ring any bells?"

That did it. Bruno was truly scared now. What a random detail to know about a country!

"Of course. But who told you about these things?"

The Headmaster leaned back in his seat and finished his cup of coffee, looking utterly smug and satisfied. "I know only his name. And even that I learned just a couple weeks ago."

"Who told you?" Bruno was curious, scared but curious. "I know, I _know_ that I am somewhere that I should not be. I should be dead. I should be in Hell. But instead, _I am here_. I am alive, and yet, _I am not home._ Italy was my home, but even that was taken from me. Who told you of it?"

"A boy by the name of Doppio Vinegar. Do you—"

Doppio Vinegar, the Boss' most well kept secret. How did _Ozpin_ know that name? Abbaccio had _died_ to learn that name. How dare this… interloper utter the Boss' name? What sort of sacrifice had he made against him? What sort of—

"So you do know about him? About Passione?" Ozpin interjected. "That alone makes you suspicious."

"Of course I know of him. Passione is what ruined my life. It tore it apart." Bruno spat out the words like hateful fire. "They are a scourge on society masquerading behind fairness and justice. They destroy lives, Headmaster." Bruno spoke slowly to prove a point.

"I'd appreciate if you went into further detail, Mr. Bucciarati." Ozpin spoke in a way that made it clear that this wasn't a request.

Bruno had been under pressure before. It was part of being a mafioso, after all. All those tense negotiations and transactions. While he would have been fine answering the Headmaster's questions, the fact that Doppio Vinegar was alive… that upped the stakes to incredible heights. The mobster knew that he couldn't remain idle, even on a different world.

"There are three ways that people can interact with one another, Headmaster. One can either negotiate, be a slave, or be a tyrant. I do not wish to be a slave. I only want to negotiate, fairly negotiate. I cannot do that if you continue to threaten me and give me impossible choices."

Ozpin let out a deathly cold sigh, looking at the young man over his glasses. "As long as you are honest, there is no reason _not_ to treat you as an equal. A question for a question then. Is that fair?"

Bruno nodded. It was probably the best deal that he would get. "Where am I?"

"The Beacon Academy, a school to train young Huntsmen and Huntresses. More generally, you are in the kingdom of Vale on the continent of Remnant. There exist three other nations, but I don't think that is very relevant at the moment," Ozpin spoke quickly, in a clipped tone. "How did you come to be here?"

Bruno didn't know and he wasn't about to lie. "I don't know. Truly, I do not know. Ask another, if it makes you feel better."

"Do you have a Stand? If so, explain to me what it is and what it can do?"

Bruno grimaced and counted that as three consecutive questions. "My Stand, Sticky Fingers. It is the soul made flesh, a warrior that will be at your side until your dying breath. Every Stand has a unique ability, but my own Stand can create zippers. What do you know about Vinegar Doppio? Is _Passione_ a phrase with which you are familiar?"

Ah, so Doppio Vinegar hadn't been lying. Ozpin was silent for a moment to collect his thoughts. "Vinegar Doppio was found two weeks ago and treated at a hospital in Vale. He escaped soon thereafter. I know nothing of the boy except that he has a Stand just as you do. And yes, Passione is a phrase I am familiar with." That was two questions that the young man had just asked. "What is your relationship with Doppio Vinegar?" That was something that Ozpin was very curious about. What sort of relationship could foster such a violent reaction from Bucciarati?

Regret filled the gangster's eyes.

"A difficult question to answer. There is much explaining that must be done. You say you are familiar with _Passione_. Do you know what it is? Truly?"

"A man? A title? An organization?"

"Correct," Bruno said softly. "An organization, a _mafia_ to be exact. An assortment of criminals, bonded together under one banner. Doppio Vinegar is… an alternate persona of sorts. A hidden identity for the true Boss of Passione, Diavolo to operate behind. You could say that he was my superior at one point."

"So you have cut ties with the man?" Ozpin didn't quite understand what Bruno meant by alternate persona.

"Yes, I rebelled against him, tried to overthrow him. You see," Bruno's eyes hardened, "Diavolo is an evil, carnivorous man. He will do whatever it takes to maintain his status quo and has power to back it up. He is a dangerous man and I've made it my goal to kill him. Do you know where he is?" Bruno leaned forward in his seat as if it would bring him closer to his answer.

"I do not know," Ozpin answered honestly. "He is the leader of Passione, you say? A series of killings has erupted in the city, all of them associated with either the narcotics trade or gang violence. You see, we have our own problem with crime. A terrorist organization called White Fang. While they weren't always violent in their methods, and certainly the cause they represented was noble they—"

"They will not be a problem much longer. I guarantee that within the year, Diavolo will have exterminated them. Every member of this White Fang that surrender to Passione will be killed. He is incredibly through in his work." And it was his modus operandi, after all. Diavolo had risen to power in Italy be consuming the other mafia's and subjugating them through fear and violence.

But the conversation was getting off track. Ozpin would certainly ask again later about Passione and perhaps even about who this Bruno Bucciarati was, but now was not the time. He sighed and massaged his forehead. Perhaps it would have been better if Qrow had sent the young man to James instead…

"What are the capabilities of Vinegar Doppio?"

"No, that boy is not the issue. I am sure," Bruno hesitated, "that you do not quite understand what I am talking about, but I will do my best to explain. Doppio Vinegar _is_ the leader of Passione. He just doesn't know it. There is another mind living in that body, one that dominates the other. This one is called. Doppio Vinegar is not a false name, it is a separate identity sharing the same body with the true Boss, Diavolo. An extreme case of dissociative personality disorder."

Ozpin had never heard of the mental disorder, but the name was telling. "Well then, what is this _Diavolo_ capable of?"

"He can…" Bruno didn't know how to explain it. Truthfully, he did not know the mechanics behind King Crimson either, just that it had the appearance of skipping time. It was a flaw in his knowledge that was crucial to defeating the Boss. "He can erase time, if that means anything to you. That and he is precognizant to some degree."

"That… makes no sense," Ozpin replied.

Of course it didn't.

"I can't explain any better than I just did. Truthfully, I do not know the exact way Diavolo's Stand functions."

Ozpin let out a soft sigh, thinking to himself a moment. He had been hoping on learning what sort of monster he had unleashed into the world, but it seemed that today was not the day for that. "What are your intentions, Mr. Bucciarati? What will you do now?" It was as Ozpin said to Doppio. This boy had no home, no money, no idea what sort of world he was in, no idea of the danger…

"I am a simple man." Bruno thought of Abbaccio who had been killed by the Boss. He remember Fugo, a long time friend, wrenched away from him by the sheer fear that Diavolo emanated. He thought of his own death, the crucifixion of Narancia… "I made it my life goal to destroy Passione. That is what I will do."

But Bruno knew that Ozpin would not allow him to leave so easily. He had seen Beacon Academy from the BullHead that had brought him here. Vale reminded Bruno of his home, where he had grown up and lived with his father… the waves licking at the shore… but he could not stay. Not here, not with Passione still active and undoubtedly destroying lives.

"I can't let you leave," Ozpin sounded almost apologetic.

"I know that." Bruno would have said the same, if he had been in the Headmaster's position.

"It isn't anything personal against you, I think… you are a good man. I can tell. You aren't anything like Doppio Vinegar. But I cannot allow you to leave. Not when I know nothing about you. Not when I cannot trust you." Ozpin didn't know how exactly the Stand powers worked, but surely they were dangerous. "Will you cooperate?"

Bruno thought for a moment. The mobster was a rational man, and he knew that he had no resources and no information, no contacts or leads to point him towards Diavolo. There was no chance for him alone. Diavolo had already been here two weeks? Had already started rebuilding his power?

Bruno had nothing. And painful as it might be, he knew he had no hope.

"It seems that I must." Bruno stood from his seat with a frown. "I hope you understand that I am unhappy about this situation, but it seems that I will require assistance to adjust to this world and to destroy Passione. Will _you_ cooperate?"

Ozpin felt a chill enter his stomach, the same sort of chill that he had felt when speaking to Doppio Vinegar, he had felt that chill only twice before in his entire life…

* * *

"Who's that guy Ozpin is walking with?" Yang pointed, her eyes mischievous. "He's not a student, is he?"

They were at lunch, and while there was much to see and say and talk about, Ozpin's entrance into the cafeteria with a stranger no one had ever seen before— that was news.

"Of course he isn't," Weiss said, "he isn't wearing a uniform," She furrowed her eyebrows in distaste. It seemed that the man was wearing a white suite with gold accents, and nothing underneath if the bare chest and tattoos were any indication. "Probably some visitor."

"Still, someone important enough that he's hanging out with Ozpin? This I gotta see." Yang stood from her seat before Weiss pulled her back down.

"Calm down! You can't just go running up like that? That's the _Headmaster_. He probably has some business with his guest!" Weiss tried her best to reason with the fiery blonde, but to no avail. Yang brushed the Schnee heiress' hand away and jogged away to get a better viewpoint on the newcomer.

* * *

"So what do you think of my school? Beautiful, is it not?"

Bruno didn't have anything to compare it to. After all, he had left school at the age of twelve, before that even, so that he could join Passione.

That was the biggest regret of his life, not being able to grow up normally. Part of him blamed his mother for leaving, but that sort of bitterness had been accepted long ago. He knew the true reason for him having to grow up so quickly.

"It's a miracle. All these students coexisting and studying, living together, all united to a common cause. Sadly, I have nothing to compare it to." And of course they were. Bruno had heard from Ozpin the threat of the Grimm, and although he hadn't seen one for himself yet, he respected all possible threats as a danger to his own life. It was the best way to survive.

"They didn't have schools where you're from?"

"My formal education is… lacking. I spent my adolescent years on the streets. There was much work I had to do. Much that I had to learn that could not be done in a school."

Ozpin took Bucciarati's dark tone to mean that further conversation about this topic was unwise.

"Well," Ozpin said awkwardly, "at the risk of derailing this conversation. What did you mean by creating _zippers_? What can your Stand do?"

It was difficult to explain, but the look in Ozpin's eyes told Bruno that this wasn't just any question. Without knowing how Sticky Fingers worked, the Headmaster would never truly trust him or afford him time to work against Passione. It would be too much of a threat to have an unknown power roaming about.

"My Stand allows me to create _zippers._ " Bruno rubbed his hand along the surface of the table they were seated at, and magically a golden zipper appeared. Idly, Bruno undid the zipper and held up the glass cup of water that he had been drinking from. "Watch carefully, please." Bruno dropped the cup into the void that the zipper created, and Ozpin, was shocked. The cup had disappeared into that void.

"Where does it go?"

Bruno shrugged. "Some space, I don't know." He stood and thrust his hand into the zipper, fishing out the cup.

"How much space is in there?" Ozpin looked under the table. The wood of the table wasn't even two inches thick, Bruno had stuck his arm up to the shoulder _into_ the zipper, into the table. How?

"As much as I want."

"And this can be applied to people?"

Bruno nodded. "Yes. Consider it this way, a zipper is for all intents and purposes, the same as a cut, a cut that does not bleed and one that I can heal instantaneously."

Now students had begun to congregate, hearing their Headmaster's gasps and wanting to investigate.

"Perhaps I should introduce you?" Ozpin asked his tenuous ally. "They seem to be interested, at least."

"I'll do it myself." Bruno stood to his feet and turned to the small crowd that had grown.

* * *

Yang pushed herself to the front of the crowd. Maybe two dozen students had been pulled from their lunches by the commotion. The Headmaster was seated, smiling wryly as his companion stood.

The first thing she noticed were his eyes, those blue, piercing globes that seemed to take stock of everything, everyone in the crowd as an equal, as if he truly respected everyone. Then the rest of his face, handsome, noble, maybe even a little stern— he looked like fun. He was tall, taller than Yang, perhaps a bit taller than six feet? Yang didn't know for sure. There were a lot of guys, even in her year, that were taller than him, but none of them carried themselves with such grace and confidence. The stranger's blue-black hair and strong gaze, it was exciting. Something, someone new.

And then the man began to talk.

"Students of Beacon, thank you for having me." He stood, wearing a white suit, his bare, tattooed chest underneath, looking like someone straight off a fashion runway. "My name is Bruno Bucciarati. I come from far away and would like your help in adjusting to your beautiful Academy. So far away in fact that I am wholly unfamiliar with your customs and lifestyle. Thank you for letting me into your lives."

The newly named Bruno spoke with such clarity and intention… Yang felt as if he was speaking directly to her.

The crowd slowly dispersed, but Yang found herself lingering, no real reason to stay, the rest of her team was probably waiting for her, but she wanted to at least introduce herself.

"Miss Xiao Long," the sudden attention shocked her, broke her from her thoughts. It was the Headmaster, obviously calling her over. "I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Bucciarati. Do you mind giving us a bit of your time?"

Yang didn't mind. The new guy was a hottie, he seemed mature and intelligent and sophisticated, everything that the boys her age _weren't_.

"Hey," she said lamely. "I'm Yang. It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Xiao Long." Bruno gently clasped her hand and kissed it. "You may have heard earlier, but my name is—"

"Bruno. I know, I was listening and—" she knew she was babbling and she couldn't stop. Usually she was so brash, so bold and forward with boys. She didn't know why she was so nervous all of a sudden. "Anyways, it's nice to meet you, but I _really_ should get to my team, so bye!"

"Miss Xiao Long, please." It was the Headmaster again, and he seemed to be happy. About what? Yang did not know.

"Yes, Headmaster?"

"Perhaps you remember. Mr. Bucciarati is new here. Perhaps you would like to show him around? Introduce him to how things work around here? He expects to be here for a while, it would be amiss to leave him in the dark."

Of course, Yang agreed.

"I'll leave you to it, then. Details of where Mr. Bucciarati is to be staying while on campus will be sent to your Scroll at a later time. Thank you." And with that, the Headmaster rose from his seat and took a long look at Bruno, as if to warn him against misbehaving. "I will expect to see you this evening, Mr. Bucciarati."

"Of course, Headmaster."

 **AN: LONG NOTE + taking a break to write another story**

 **Sadly I don't have anyone to proof read my shit and it's just too mind-numbingly terrible to read my own work. If you're interested, contact pls.**

 **The RWBYverse is completely separate from the Jojoverse. Pucci killed Diavolo and Bucciarati, kicking them out of the Jojoverse and sending them to Remnant.**

 **Pucci will not be playing an actual role outside of this chapter, but the way the story is shaping up, it's going to be Bruno vs Diavolo.**

 **I am not too sure what role I want Bruno to fill. I don't particularly want to keep him in Beacon but I also want him to be able to give direction to the Beacon crew so that they can actually fight Diavolo. Without Bruno and the information he brings, I can't see anyone in from RWBYverse stopping him. I've thought of two paths to take Bruno. Either he stays at Remnant (won't be joining RWBY or accompanying them on missions) or he would leave and join Cinder's faction. This chapter I made it seem like it would be impossible for Bruno to leave, but honestly it's just that it would be inconvenient for him. Sticky Fingers can just pop a hole in the ground and Bruno can get out of Beacon easily. Of course, he just needs to deal with the fact that he knows nothing of the world and that he has no resources while Diavolo is getting rich off drug money.**

 **Another problem. From what we've seen of RWBY so far, there's nothing that can really go toe to toe with Diavolo. When it comes to physicals, Diavolo is unmatched. From my interpretation of King Crimson, it is physically more powerful than any other Stand in the series. It uses single strikes to cut people in half, punch through them, etc while Star Platinum and Crazy Diamond hit a million times and don't kill anything. You could say that's a difference between characters, but even The World didn't just donut Jotaro when it hit him (it did to Kakyoin, but Araki is a** ** _hack_** **so whatever). In addition to the physical advantage that KC has, without knowing exactly what King Crimson does, there's really no way to beat it. Diavolo can't be hit because he has 10 seconds of precog, can always get in the optimal position to kill someone, and can always chase down or escape because of his precog. Someone in the reviews thought that Cinder could be Diavolo at range. I disagreed with that simply because of how KC and Epitaph work. Diavolo just uses Epitaph to dodge projectiles and activates KC when the time is right and kills Cinder, one punch. Aura is a way for people to increase their physicals, but when Stands like Stone Free are described as having punches like meteor strikes, and KC is arguably stronger despite the equal power rating, Aura won't do shit to block a punch from KC.**

 **Haven't thought about shipping or anything yet. Yay? Nay? Suggestions? Might have seen like Yang x Bruno this chapter but I'm not planning for it. Bruno is supposed to be an incredibly charismatic and charming person, I think Yang would react very OOC to that sort of male character (slightly older, handsome, more experienced, etc).**

 **Character ages:**

 **Bruno (age 20)**

 **Diavolo (age 33)**

 **Doppio (age 17)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: body horror**

 **AN: mr. black rice**

As expected, they met in a dark room. Lights muted and blinds drawn, six of them together, Vale's most notorious criminals. Roman Torchwick and his pink-brown-white sidekick, Adam Taurus, looking stern as always, Cinder and her associates— this meeting had been called, an emergency measure to address the events of the past night.

"They've approached the both of you then?" Cinder asked. She was starting to get tired of this so called _Passione_. Not only were they slowing down the progression of her plan, but they seemed to be of a mysterious sort. Nobody knew much about the new criminal organization.

"There's a general invitation that's been passed around the streets. They're recruiting anyone they can, focusing on the poor and disadvantaged. The promises they're making… my subordinates tell me that Passione seems to be quite well funded." Adam Taunus spoke quietly, which surprised Cinder, the Faunus was usually very reluctant and taciturn in these sorts of meetings. He held a huge grudge against working with humans. "It appears that humans and Faunus alike are welcome to this new group."

"And you, Torchwick?"

Everyone in the room seemed somewhat troubled, but none more so than Roman. He sat in his chair, legs crossed and Melodic Cudgel laying on his lap. The usual cheeky smile on his face was subdued, more forced.

"Talked to some guy from Passione the other night. It was during a robbery. Nothing big, just trying to steal some more Dust."

Cinder watched as the orange haired criminal shuddered. She took some sick satisfaction at seeing the man so shaken.

"I didn't even notice him kill the others…" Roman closed his eyes and shook his head, remembering the terrible coldness that he had met the past night. "They were fucked up, you know? I don't know what happened, but they just had these holes ripped through them. Big holes, straight through their chest, holes bigger than your fist. Weren't any gunshots or anything either."

Adam tensed. The men who had been with Torchwick were _his_ brothers, members of White Fang who had given their lives for the cause. He hated the fact that the Faunus had to sacrifice just to make a world where they could live without disruption.

"And, I didn't hear anything, either. I was just keeping the shopkeeper busy, waiting for our boys to do their thing, just take the Dust and leave, you know? Then behind me is this shadow, and I know I was fucked." Roman considered himself a good fighter, he wouldn't have lasted this long in his career if he wasn't, but that presence… it was impossibly scary. "He made me kill the shopkeeper and left with the money." But Roman didn't say anything about how he had been invited to join the new group…

"Did you get a look at his face?" Amber asked.

"I was facing a wall the whole time, sweetheart," Roman said laconically. "Besides, the guy had some complex against that. Kept going on about his face, said it was the reason he wanted the shopkeeper dead. Said the reason he was going to let me live was cause I didn't see his face."

That wasn't exactly that strange, Cinder noted. Keeping your identity hidden was always a good idea when it came to these things, but why not just wear a mask?

"And? What did he say?" One of Cinder's subordinates, the green haired Emerald Sustrai, asked.

"Nothing much. It's not like he told me his plans or anything. He just told me that he was going to take the money that was in the store. He let me take the Dust." Roman was lying, but no one besides Neo could truly tell.

There was much grumbling in the room as the answer that Roman gave was hardly satisfactory.

"We need to get rid of Passione. It's why I called the meeting," Cinder said. "Either of you know where to find him? I'll personally kill the leader if I have to."

Roman rolled his eyes and looked at Adam. Despite the two's differences, they were better versed in the politics of the criminal underworld that Cinder was. For all her power, the girl was naïve.

"It isn't that simple, Cinder, my dear," Roman began, biting humor bleeding into his words. "Passione controls the drug trade."

"And that's relevant _why?_ " The black-haired girl asked. "All we need to do is kill their leader. The organization should fall apart without them."

That was one thing they did not want.

"And are you prepared to fill those shoes?" Adam asked brusquely. "White Fang doesn't deal in the drug trade and I won't pretend to know how it works, but no good can come if there's a power vacuum."

"Yeah, beastie boy is right on this," Roman agreed, ignoring Taurus' angry snarl. "Can't just get rid of them if we're not willing to step up. Remember a couple weeks ago when Fring died?" The various persons in the room nodded their recollection. "Only reason world didn't completely turn to shit was cause whoever killed him, the leader of Passione or whoever, replaced him. The drug trade is fucking huge, they move _billions_ of Lien every year. Cartels will come after us." Roman shook his head.

Cinder pouted. "That shouldn't be a problem though. They won't be able to touch any of us."

Roman had to bite back a laugh. "You're joking, right? You really don't know anything about anything." That was one of the reasons Roman hated working with Cinder and her faction. The girl was strong, no doubt about that, but she didn't know anything at all how the world worked. Not everything was about strength. "You think you could take out a Mistrali crimelord? A Vacuoan opium sheikh? You'd be dead ten ways within the hour. You don't have any idea what it's like to live with a contract on your head."

"You're underestimating me, Torchwick. Watch yourself." Fire bloomed in Cinder's hands as she narrowed her eyes. "You don't seem to be having any problems when there's a bounty on you. Last time I checked there was a five million Lien reward for information leading to your arrest."

Oh Oum, Roman couldn't help himself. He had to laugh. "A bounty on _my_ head, put there by the police, is completely different from what you're talking about." Then he had to grow serious. "However strong you might be, you're just a kid. Now," Roman held his hands up to placate his angry boss, "I'm not saying that to belittle you, but you gotta understand, there's more ways to die than just fighting someone. The police won't put a drop of _poison_ in your cup or ground glass in your food when you're not looking. The police won't send assassins disguised as waiters or make suicide bombers out of children…" Roman had seen it all before. "These guys, the cartels, they don't play by the rules."

And unlike him, Roman was not joking around. This was a serious warning that Roman was giving. Hopefully Cinder would listen.

"I can take care of myself," Cinder stated aloud. "We're getting rid of Passione no matter what. Whether it be with your help," the black-haired girl looked at Roman and Adam alternatively, "or without."

It took the leader of the White Fang quite a while to decide. The look on his partially covered face was tense. "Passione has decided to target White Fang in specific. They've already killed many of my brothers. The fact that they're trying to get White Fang members to defect is also a problem."

"How about a meeting?" Cinder mused. "Bring the White Fang, call the members together. Solidify their loyalty. Show them that we have power, show them that Passione is nothing compared to us." It was a solid idea, and Adam nodded his consent.

"End of the week, then. I'll call for a meeting."

Was the world coming to an end? Was he the only one with any sense? Roman shook his head. He wasn't going to touch this fiasco with a hundred-foot pole. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not about to throw away my life over this. Y'all do what you want." With that, the criminal stood up, walking towards the door, Neo following silently behind. "Cinder," something made him warn his boss, even though he despised her. "You don't know what you're getting into."

"I'm not some a fucking kid, Roman. I know just as well what I'm doing." Cinder declared, fiery, angry.

Roman _knew_ that the girl didn't. No one did because no one was around to piss off the cartels and live to tell about it. But he kept his mouth shut. At the end of the day, _he didn't give a damn._

* * *

"Are they ready, Mr. White? Napalm, phosphorus, sulfur mustard, hydrogen gas…" Diavolo spoke into his new Scroll, he had taken it off a dead White Fang member. "Yes, this was much to ask for, Mr. White, I know this."

In all honesty, Walter White, Diavolo's chief manufacturer of methamphetamine, was a man that the mob boss respected greatly. When it came to chemistry, the new drug kingpin was a genius.

"You will be rewarded, of course. Five million Lien, I can forward you to cover cost of production. The leftover will be your payment. Yes…" Diavolo responded. "I hope this will be acceptable. Yes, of course. This is business, Mr. White. Passione will take blame for this. No one will know of your involvement. Without your assistance, this would not be possible. I do not forget, Mr. White." It was no small amount, a significant fraction of the money that Diavolo had stockpiled and stolen, but it was worth it.

Diavolo put away his Scroll, happy with the results of his conversation with his head chemist. The chemical agents that he had requested several days earlier were nearly ready. Of course, the napalm was something that Diavolo could prepare himself, and he had already procured the hydrogen gas by robbing a local chemical reagents company, but the rest of it, the phosphorus and sulfur mustard, these were impossible to obtain without access to a military arsenal or personal synthesis. Reliable man, that White was.

He was in a warehouse. It was the middle of the day, so of course there were still workers there. But Diavolo was in disguise, hidden amongst the rafters, and was using Epitaph and King Crimson to evade detection. He would scout out the location today, and when the chemical munitions came in, he would install them and hide them in the warehouse.

Still, Diavolo's younger alter ego had proven invaluable. The Faunus that Doppio had recruited the past day had proven to be incredibly helpful. Doppio, and by extension, Diavolo, had learned that the White Fang would be meeting here in a couple days. The Head of Passione was planning to set a trap, hide explosives and chemical weapons in the dark corners of the warehouse, inside crates, on top of roof rafters, all throughout the district where the meeting would take place. When the White Fang came to meet, Diavolo would strike.

A day and Diavolo's weapons would be ready.

* * *

"Weiss? Ruby not here yet? I know Blake's in the library."

Bruno trailed closely behind his new guide, taking in the sights of the Academy that was to be his new home and base of operations. It was opulent, every square inch well maintained and beautiful. Ozpin hadn't been lying about Beacon being the premier institution for training new Huntsmen.

"She's finishing up Port's essay that's due next period, I swear, that girl…" Weiss shook her head slowly before noticing the man who stood calmly behind Yang. "Hello," she said awkwardly.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss…"

"Weiss Schnee."

"My name is Bruno Bucciarati."

Strange name, but Weiss wasn't the type to comment on it. But it fit. The man was strange, after all.

"Ozpin told me to show him around. He's a visitor." Yang hopped over to Weiss' side and nudged her in the ribs. "What do you think? Pretty cool, right?"

"I'll save my judgement for later," she snidely told her teammate. "Mr. Bucciarati, I apologize for Yang here, she doesn't have the best mind for boundaries."

"I noticed," he said blandly. "Would you perhaps be interested in accompanying Miss Xiao Long and myself as she shows me around the campus? I would appreciate it greatly." It was a rather hasty judgement, but Bruno got the feeling that the Schnee girl would be more helpful than her blonde teammate.

"Hey! I'm right here, you know. _I_ was gonna show you around."

"Then please, by all means, show me."

Yang and Weiss stood from the table and led the way, each of them pointing out different characteristics of the buildings, different classrooms, study rooms, training rooms, so many rooms in the Academy. Bruno mentally compared it to a castle.

"This is where we usually have our combat class," Yang said excitedly, "can you fight, Bruno? You're a Huntsman, aren't you?" Of course he was, Yang reasoned, why else would he be visiting Ozpin?

This was an important question, one that Bruno would have to consider carefully. "Not in the way that you are thinking," that wasn't a lie. From what Bruno could see and had heard about Huntsmen, they were dedicated to the extermination of Grimm, focusing less on fighting or dealing with more human threats. Bruno was the opposite. He had no experience combating animals, but had lived the past eight years of his life as a soldier. There were hundreds of deaths that he was personally responsible for. "I am not weak, I would say, but I am not a Huntsman."

"Bummer," Yang emphasized the first syllable of the word cheekily, "still you must be pretty strong, right? Show me what you got, maybe?"

Weiss scoffed. "Hardly the time, Yang. We should introduce him to Ruby and Blake if we can. Lunch break is over in half an hour."

"Chill out _Ice Queen_ , just cause you're a stick in the mud, doesn't mean _he_ has to be. What do you say, Bruno?"

While it would be interesting to finally see what these Huntsmen were capable of, Bruno decided against it. He didn't want to let word of his existence be heard by the wrong ears, and using his Stand powers would certainly attract the wrong sort of attention. At least no one but Ozpin had seen said powers in the cafeteria…

"The offer is tempting Miss Xiao Long, but I must decline. Perhaps some other time?"

Yang frowned. "Alright… why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what, Miss Xiao Long?" Bruno asked in his most polite voice.

The blonde let out a grunt of frustration, very unladylike to Weiss' chagrin.

"You can call me Yang, you know? I'm not _Miss Xiao Long_ , we're friends," the bruiser punched Bruno in the shoulder playfully. "You don't need to act like an old man."

"Yang… he's just trying to be polite." Weiss hissed. It was quite refreshing being treated so respectfully. Most of the boys at Beacon were such boors, if Yang corrupted this man…

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Yang." Bruno said, his face placid and unwavering. His previous occupation as a gangster didn't leave much time to be making friends. In fact, besides his old crew, Bruno couldn't remember having any real _friends_. It was a sobering fact, one that reminded him that nearly everyone had died to take down the Boss. Hopefully Giorno had been able to get the job done…

"Well, here's our dorm!" Yang stepped towards a door and scanned her Scroll, some sort of translucent technology that Bruno had learned, doubled as phone, web browser, navigation, and more.

* * *

Jesse pulled up behind the warehouse in a nondescript flatbed, the contents of the truck hidden by several blue tarps. In the back was everything the _Boss_ had requested, hydrogen gas in their high-pressure tanks, several gallons of sulfur mustard, the kilograms of white phosphorous that had to be stored in oil, and even a barrel of gasoline where Jesse had spent many hours adding Styrofoam, orange juice concentrate, cat litter, corn starch… all sorts of things that Mr. White had suggested. Out the corner of his eye, Jesse saw Doppio, carrying a huge briefcase.

Once he parked, Jesse rushed out of the car. These sort of deals were best done quickly.

"Hey Jesse," the pink haired boy said immediately. "How've you been?"

Honestly… Jesse was doing great. Ever since Passione had taken control of the drug trade, all the murdering, the fear of being killed or enslaved to make the meth, the fear that he was losing his humanity, all that was going away. The only things necessary now were for Jesse to manage the mules and dealers, oversee the distribution, and collect the cash. Mr. White was in charge of the synthesis, and the system worked as well as ever— better in fact. Now that Fring, that unstable, violent man, was no longer in charge, it became easier to work. Even the police seemed to be less concerned with their activities now, probably, Jesse assumed, to take care of the White Fang.

"Been good," Jesse replied.

Doppio walked forward and tossed the briefcase in the passenger seat. "Five million Lien, each, as promised."

Jesse nodded dumbly. Ever since he made it big with Mr. White, the money had grown, every week it seemed that their earnings would grow, but five million was no laughing matter. "Let's try and hurry it up before those bitch workers get here." Jesse quickly undid the truck's bed door and lifted the tarp out of the way.

The Passione capo seemed unconcerned. "Take your time, Jesse. I took care of the workers. Let's just unload everything."

With the help of the meth cooking drop out, Doppio was able to get everything off the truck, and, true to his word, none of the workers came by to bother them,

"Hey," Jesse began, panting out of exertion, "how'd you manage this, anyways?"

"What do you mean?" Doppio said cautiously, it seemed awfully like Jesse would be asking about his past, something that Doppio absolutely refused to talk about in normal circumstances.

"Like, why aren't any of the workers coming by here? Don't they make rounds to make sure no one steals anything?"

The younger boy sighed in relief. "They work for me. Everyone on the current shift is part of Passione. Helps a lot in situations like this."

"And…" it was Jesse's turn to be cautious now. "Mr. White said that this stuff was dangerous, like _really_ dangerous. That stuff," the drug dealer pointed to a container that had been given a bright yellow streak on it to signify a hazard, "Mr. White tells me a lot of it was used as a weapon in the Great War before it was banned. Why use it now?"

"We need to make a statement," Doppio parroted the Boss' words. "Show everyone that we're strong and merciless and that we have access to these weapons. When the news trucks come rolling in and they get pictures of the bodies… all of Vale will know that there's someone out there that's out to get the Fang."

And that was them. The passionate would overcome the vicious.

"Come on," Doppio hit Jesse on the shoulder, "help me get this shit set up." For the next several hours the two men tussled with the heavy containers and to rig the explosive charges to all of them, Jesse listening carefully to what wire had to go where, where to apply the solder, where to hide the explosive.

It didn't sit well with the idealistic meth cook at all. This wasn't just a murder that was going to happen.

* * *

She hadn't seen anything so messy before.

So much blood she couldn't tell how many people had died. So many pieces of bodies, or arms and legs, faces shredded, the black asphalt glistened it had soaked up so much _juice._ Winter had been a Huntress, and had then joined the military— she had seen combat— but never in her life had she seen something so fundamentally wrong as all these dead men and women. Lying against a signpost was an equally broken weapon, some sort of sword-cudgel hybrid that showed some poor Huntsman had been on the scene and had failed.

"Shit…" Winter almost never swore, but this seemed to be just the correct occasion. She tottered forward, in one of the seats of an outdoor café was a body, this one intact, unravaged by whatever chaos had killed all these people. Her foot clattered against something small and rectangular and very, very sharp.

Her head turned towards the slick red ground and Winter hardened.

Amongst the blood and fragments of bone and rags of flesh were thousands upon thousands of razor blades, each of them coated in the thinnest sheen of crimson death.

They looked like flower petals.

Just a couple meters away, the body twitched and Winter knew that she couldn't afford to be distracted at a time like this.

At least one person was still alive.

Winter ran, gracefully enough not to stumble over the broken corpses and to avoid slipping over that ocean of blood. She reached the man, noticed his rising chest, the holes in his body leaking precious dampness, the clean razor blade in his hand still twitching, and realized he was still alive.

With an errant hand, she reached for her Scroll and called an ambulance. With the other she shrugged off her coat and bundled it, applying gentle pressure to the man's wound to staunch the bleeding just as she had been trained to do in first aid class all those years ago. Hopefully he'd live…

Eyes under light purple bangs opened and Winter screamed.

"You're here to kill me too?"

* * *

Bruno decided that the small girl in front of him was too loud. In another world, perhaps he would have used his Stand to zip the girl's mouth shut, still, her enthusiasm seemed sincere and pure. Despite her volume, he couldn't help but smile.

"One question at a time please, Miss Rose," he requested of the girl.

At that, the girl paused dramatically and thought, "okay… what should I ask him first…"

The mafioso looked towards Yang and Weiss, a question in his eyes. "Is she always like this?"

"Usually only when she's meeting someone for the first time," Weiss snarked.

"I got it!" Seemingly oblivious to the conversation around her, Ruby looked up from her thoughts. "How old are you?" She exclaimed.

"Twenty."

"Uh… what's your name again?" Ruby blushed, embarrassed. The man had only introduced himself a couple minutes ago and she found herself forgetting.

"Bruno Bucciarati."

"Crap, I knew that." Ruby pounded her fist into her open palm. "Uh, like, what brings you to Beacon?" She didn't really know what else to ask, besides of course if she could see his weapon or if he was a Huntsman, but Bruno didn't seem to be carrying anything of the sort. It would probably be inappropriate to ask at the moment.

For a moment or two Bruno had to think. He himself didn't know why he was at Beacon. The goal of course was to defeat Diavolo… but the rest of it, fighting Grimm, capturing criminals, it didn't particularly appeal to him. Maybe it was the time that he had spent as a criminal himself? Bruno had no confusion over what sort of person he was. He had done too much to abet Diavolo and the rest of the gang. Bruno was no hero.

"I am here, like the rest of you," Bruno gestured to the room, at Weiss and Yang, "to learn."

"You're a student?" Yang asked, confused. "You didn't say anything like that."

Bruno hadn't meant it that way. Before he could speak, the heiress interjected.

"Don't be silly, Yang. Mr. Bucciarati is older than we are. He must already be enrolled in an academy."

"I'm not a student. More of a… visitor. Nothing more than a visitor. The life of a Huntsman would not be appropriate for a man such as I." From what little he knew, Huntsmen were some sort of supernatural protector, flashy and inspirational, wielding Semblances that bent the world to their will, Aura to make them strong, and deadly weapons to beat back the hordes of Grimm. At the most basic level, Bruno was nothing more than a common murderer overstepping his bounds. He was a Stand user, a gangster, a leader… but no Hunstman.

"Aww…" the littlest girl sighed. "I was hoping that you had some cool weapons or something to show us."

She was dismayed, Bruno could tell. How amazed would she be if she learned of his Sticky Fingers? Bruno entertained the thought of showing them all his Stand, but his good sense advised him against it. All information on Stands and who Bruno was— these were secrets that he would have to keep, his one and only advantage over the Boss. Bruno knew who the Boss was, what he was capable of, and that he existed on the world. Bruno still had anonymity…

"Perhaps someday, you'll see something amazing," Bruno said with a small smile.

The door to the dormitory opened, Yang and Weiss standing outside with smirks on their faces.

"We're going to pick up Blake from the library."

" _Do not_ be late for class, Ruby."

And the two older girls left, leaving the mafioso alone with Ruby.

For a long while it was awkward. Bruno had nothing to talk about with the girl and the girl had nothing else to say, her interest in weapons and being a Huntress was lost on the older boy.

"Well… I guess I'll show you around?"

The two shared a smile, marginally larger than the one they had shared before.

* * *

"Why did you leave me with them?" Bruno asked. After leaving Team RWBY's dormitory, the team leader had shown him around the campus, spending most of their brief time at the garden. It had been quite beautiful, but Bruno wasn't exactly a flower person. Once the girl had to go to class, he had been left alone to wander the halls, ignoring the curious students. "This afternoon was largely a waste of time."

"I apologize, but I _do_ run this Academy, you know. There is much work for me to do," Ozpin sighed as he patted a stack of papers, perhaps two inches high. "In any case, I am sorry if you felt bored, I had thought that Team RWBY would have kept you entertained." In actuality, Ozpin had spent a great deal of his afternoon monitoring his guest's movements. It was the prudent thing to do, especially when trust had not yet been fully cemented between the two.

It wasn't precisely boredom that Bruno had felt.

"No, I didn't mean to come off like I was complaining." He was restless. The gangster had spent so long, constantly on the lookout for danger, for Stand attacks, assassins… it was strange to him _not_ to have to fight for his life every hour of the day. The slightest off movement that a stranger would make, that was enough to set him ready to fight, kill, do whatever it took to survive— but that was not accepted here.

"There's not much for me to do here. I would highly prefer to be searching for Diavolo, taking an active role in this investigation." His place was not among _children_. While he didn't mind the presence of any of the members of Team RWBY he had met that day, they were different. There was a gulf of experience and jadedness that was far too wide to be overcome by simple childhood innocence and curiosity. Bruno thought of Ruby in particular. The silver eyed girl was so young, so beautifully ignorant of what horrors lay all around her. Compared to his old team, they were naïve. That was his principle concern with the students of Beacon.

Somehow, Ozpin was able to read the thoughts that stewed in Bruno's head. The Headmaster looked sad, pitying almost.

"You've murdered before." The Headmaster said it regrettably. "You are so young… and you know how blood feels on your hand. If you were attending this school, you'd be a third-year student."

"Third years do not kill?" Bruno frowned. "A sad, idealistic excuse for a profession this is then. No peace can be maintained without the threat of the _axe_. No matter how well you teach these children," Bruno used that word, despite being the same age as the upperclassmen of Beacon, he _deserved_ to call them children, for he knew things that they knew not. "No matter how talented they are, no matter how many beasts they can slay, peace can't be maintained without death. Not with men like _him_ around."

Others had said the same, and a small part of Ozpin's own mind told him that was Bruno was saying was true, but that wasn't the point. Beacon wasn't founded to train a generation of killers.

"The killing you are talking about, Mr. Bucciarati, and the killing that a Hunter must do are very different. One is to further a goal, the other is to uphold justice. Hunters are not… they are not executioners. They are _heroes_. The world needs inspiration, they need hope and faith that they will be safe."

The first time Bruno had killed a man… he had been twelve years old. He had killed without mercy, without guilt, without any qualm because some people in this world _had_ to be put down. The students here... Bruno couldn't imagine that a girl as innocent and carefree as Ruby Rose would ever be able to kill. Perhaps in self-defense or to protect a loved one, but never in cold blood, never because of a reason other than imminent doom. That was what separated Bruno from the students.

" _They_ are children."

"You're not much older than they are, Mr. Bucciarati."

That was the sad part. Ozpin saw the loneliness hidden in the young man's blue eyes, the lack of trust, the lack of warmth. Everything the boy had was torn away from him, and while Ozpin didn't know what circumstances had brought Bruno to Remnant, he could tell that some extraordinary loss had happened, not to mention the fact that the young man had to learn about an entirely different existence than he was used to.

"It's irresponsible not to tell them what awaits."

"They will learn for themselves."

That didn't sit so well with Bruno.

"Headmaster," Bruno began, "why am I here? Are you serious about taking down Passione? Put me in the city and I will uncover them for you. This is not a place for me. I am no Huntsman. I am no hero."

And that was precisely why Ozpin wouldn't let Bruno have free reign.

* * *

"Boss?" Doppio was alone now. After he and Jesse had set up the explosives in the warehouse district, the young boy had bummed a ride off his older business partner back to the city. It was evening, and he was searching for some food. "Everything's ready. We got it done an hour ago." In the Boss' infinite generosity, Doppio now had a Scroll. Not only could the boy receive calls from the Boss wherever, but he could also learn more about the world around him.

 _"WELL DONE, DOPPIO. YOU HAVE DONE YOUR PART. TOMORROW AND PASSIONE'S STATUS IN THIS WORLD WILL BE CEMENTED. TOMORROW UNTIL YOUR ACTIONS, MY DEAR, BRING US TO THE HEIGHTS OF POWER."_

The boy felt almost giddy hearing the Boss praising him. "Thank you, Boss! I'm just doing my best!"

 _"YES DOPPIO. YOU'VE DONE EXEMPLARY WORK SO FAR… BUT HOW GOES RECUITMENT? HOW MANY ARE IN OUR RANKS NOW?"_

That was one aspect of business that wasn't going so well. Although Doppio had secured the employment of several members, and those members had gone on to recruit some more members… they had perhaps fifty people who could be considered part of Passione, this was, of course, including the drug operations… None of these individuals were particularly capable of great things, most were weak and only good for grunt work.

"Uhh…" Doppio hesitated. It wasn't really a failure, but it wasn't a success either. "Not so good Boss. People here are pretty weak, and we don't have the Arrow to give them Stands—"

 _"HOW MANY, DOPPIO? GIVE ME A NUMBER."_

"Forty-five by the last count Boss!" Doppio inwardly cringed. The Boss was a very… emotional man. The purple haired boy had grown used to the extreme mood shifts and outbursts over the years, but it was jarring all the same.

 _"EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEM ARE USELESS?"_

"I wouldn't say they were _useless_ , I mean, they can carry stuff and listen to directions and—"

Frustration bled into the Boss' voice and Doppio cowered.

 _"THIS WILL NOT DO, DOPPIO."_

"I'm sorry Boss! So sorry, I'll do better, I swear—"

 _"SHUT UP. IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT. IT IS NOT AN APOLOGY THAT I REQUIRE."_

"Boss…" Doppio said quietly. "What can I do?"

 _"THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO, DOPPIO. CONTINUE TO RECRUIT TO THE BEST OF YOUR ABILITIES. TOMORROW, SATURDAY, THINGS WILL CHANGE. I AM SURE OF IT. AND STILL, HAVING AN ARMY OF TRASH IS STILL AN ARMY."_ The Boss' voice softened. _"I AM NOT ANGRY WITH YOU, DOPPIO… SIMPLY THE SITUATION. LIFE WOULD BE EASIER IF WE HAD THE ARROW."_

Doppio nodded furiously. "Boss, what's the next stage in our plan? What are we gonna do next?"

 _"YOU WILL DO NOTHING."_ The Boss hung up abruptly, leaving Doppio alone under a quiet, flickering streetlight, a terrible aching feeling of failure and loneliness in his heart. The boy couldn't quite shake the feeling that the Boss was unhappy with him…

* * *

It was bothersome, but like many bothersome things, it had to be done. For the past four hours Winter had sat in the hospital lounge, bored out of her mind, only getting up to fill her cup with fresh coffee, pick up another magazine, and to check on her charge, the black-eyed man who had been found at the scene of the massacre. Since she had been the one to find the man, and since she was basically General Ironwood's 'assistant', Winter had the unhappy task of monitoring the unknown and reporting back to her boss.

 _"Would Specialist Winter Schnee report to administration? I repeat, Specialist Winter Schnee, to administration."_ The speaker, some woman, spoke in the calmest, most boring tone Winter had ever heard, likely to keep the patients calm and sedate.

Sighing, the Specialist looked at her Scroll. It was still four thirty-seven, twenty three minutes until she had to check on the black eyed man again. She got up from her seat, stretching away the tight knots that had formed in her legs and shoulders. God, it was such a pain to have to do this.

Still, the administration desk was only down the hall from the hospital lounge, Winter took a thirty second walk and arrived at her destination.

"Is there something you need, miss?" Some woman in pink scrubs was seated at the desk, pretty and young, but looking nervous.

"Ah, yes," the woman looked down at a sheet of paper, messy scribbles all over it. "I received a message from a doctor on that floor, and they reported that the two men you had posted to guard _that_ room, well… they're gone. No one knows where."

 _That_ was cause for concern. Privates Steels and Werther were dependable people, not the brightest, but dedicated to their job all the same, which was why Winter had brought them to guard the prisoner's room. It was protocol for these types of assignments that at least one person would be on guard at all times. If one needed to go to the bathroom or something, the other could stay and keep watch. That was the point of having two guards.

"How long has it been?" Winter asked, frowning. She had worked with Steels and Werther before, and neither of them seemed the type to neglect their work, no matter how bored they got.

The desk attendant looked back down at her paper. "Um… I got the first call twenty minutes ago. The doctor called me again just before I called you down here, he said there's still no one guarding the door."

Winter stilled and instinct told her that something was wrong. A twenty-minute absence? It shouldn't have happened.

"Thanks for letting me know. I'll go check it out." Winter waved goodbye to the woman at the desk.

One short elevator ride later and she was on the tenth floor. Where the room was located was no problem for Winter, she had memorized where the prisoner was located from the very first time she checked up on him. The problem was that the woman from administration had been telling the truth. Neither Private Steels or Werther were at the door, not a sign of struggle.

 _'Oh.'_

The door handle didn't even budge. Even if the door had been locked, the handle should have had _some_ give, some wriggling as the mechanism struggled against the bolt— but no, the handle simply would not turn. She tried again, this time enhancing her strength with Aura, not paying any attention to the people staring at her. Something was very wrong.

"Damn it." She wrenched the door handle _hard_ and it twisted, the handle twisted and warped in her grip, but no sound of breaking, no sound of a bolt sliding. _"Damn it!"_ Winter turned quickly and yelled at the small crowd that had gathered. "Official Atlesian military business! I'm going to need all of you to evacuate, _please_."

"Miss!" A doctor, an old man, stepped forward. "This is a _hospital_ , we can't evacuate! There are patients that need to be cared for, people too sick and injured to be moved!"

But Winter ignored the man's complaints and took two steps back and kicked the door in.

There were two bodies and an empty bed. The two soldiers that she had stationed as guards were bleeding from a thousand separate wounds. The black-eyed man was gone…

"Oh God," Winter murmured as she fell to her knees. In Steel's neck was a scissor. Not stabbed into the soldier's neck as one would expect, but _in_ his neck, under the skin. She could only see the ghastly skin silhouette, but it couldn't have been anything other than a scissor. She looked at Werther. Embedded deep into his face and jutting out of his eyes were needles, his eyes, leaking pink fluid, blood and vitreous water mixing into ghastly tears. Needles all over his body, under his fingernails, sticking out of his boots, one that ran the entire width of his thigh— " _Holy fuck!_ I need a doctor here!" She called out. Outside the room she heard people scrambling, chaos, some of them attempting to evacuate as she had ordered them to do, others having seen into the room, having seen all the carnage, screaming about murder and death. "Shit." Winter wasn't one to curse often, but the time was appropriate.

Then the door closed.

 _"Shit!"_ Winter ran towards it, and tried the handle, realizing that she had already destroyed it when she kicked down the door, and realizing that for some fucked up reason, it would not open. It would not turn. Steels and Werther were bleeding out, she needed a doctor to come see them, the door wouldn't even budge, she would have to kick it down again— oh _God_ , what was going on?

She prepared herself once again to kick.

"My name is Risotto Nero."

Winter didn't scream, she was far too well trained for that. In the previously empty bed was a man, the black-eyed man she had brought in from the street. He was shirtless, and Winter could see a powerful body, muscled heavily, and bandaged all across the torso. Old scars, many scars, pale pink and white scars that told a hundred stories, not of battle, but of murder. The man no longer wore handcuffs on his wrists.

"The soldiers aren't quite dead yet. Immediate medical attention and they should be fine. I intentionally missed the important bits." The man smiled as he sat up from his bed. How he had got there, and out of his handcuffs, Winter didn't know. "You saved my life, miss. Letting your soldiers live was the least I could do."

She forced herself to be calm. "You stabbed Werther in the eyes."

"Near the eyes." The self-proclaimed Risotto Nero corrected. "There will be no lasting harm, you have my word."

But there wasn't even the slightest expectation of trust between the two.

"That means _nothing_ to me."

"It should, because they are not dead. They will live to fight another day, so the expression goes." There was a curious little smile on Risotto's face. "Tell me, where am I? A hospital no doubt, likely one that isn't used to danger if the panic outside is of any indication… likely the hospital closest to where I was found." The assassin continued to reason aloud, trying to make sense of what had happened. Last he remembered was fighting the Boss' subordinate. "Yet we're not in Italy. The architecture is all wrong. The _people_ , are all wrong. What sort of human has the ears of a dog? Of a rabbit?"

Those were _Faunus_ that he was talking about, and Winter refused to believe that he didn't know what a Faunus was. No matter how ignorant, how stupid and dull one could be, it was impossible _not_ to know what a good thirty percent of the population was.

The door opened on its own. The door that Winter couldn't move without destroying, it opened smoothly and easily.

"Your friends need help."

Winter took her chance. "Doctor! I need a doctor here!" She scrambled to action, moving as best she could without taking her eyes off her prisoner. Quickly, a pair of nurses came, both of them shocked. From what she could hear, the rest of the floor had nearly been finished being evacuated. "Take them. Give them medical attention."

"It should be fine to drag them," Risotto called out. "I will make sure their injuries are not disturbed." A strange thing to say.

Swallowing their confusion, the nurses let their professionality take over and they quickly moved the bodies of Steels and Werther from the room, leaving Winter and Risotto alone.

"See how generous I am?" Risotto asked aloud. "You are lucky that I am so happy to be alive. Any other day and I would have killed them."

"What are you."

"Risotto Nero, a killer of men." It might not have been prudent to let the woman know of his profession so easily, but Risotto didn't care. Perceptive as he was, he already realized that he was no longer in Italy, no longer on Earth if his eyes were to be trusted. In his veins, Risotto could feel Metallica, strong as ever, eager to shed blood. He was confident that he could survive, survive easily, because so long as people were people, one would want another dead and Risotto would be there to do the deed.

" _What_ are you." Winter asked because she didn't understand any of what had happened. How had the scissor appeared underneath Steels' skin? Where had all the needles come from? When Risotto had arrived at the hospital, the doctors had cut his clothes and thrown them away so they could get at man's wounds. Was he some sort of rouge robot? An evil Huntsmen? A criminal?

"What am I indeed…" Risotto mumbled as he rose from the bed, standing to his full height, fully nude. They hadn't even put a gown on him in fears of irritating his injuries. "I am a man. I am lost. I need _help._ " He took a step towards Winter, causing her to flinch even as she looked him over. "You will help me, right?"

* * *

Torchwick cursed all and every Gods to ever have been praised. Adam had been giving a 'rousing' speech on loyalty and how traitors to the White Fang would be hunted down, blah, blah, blah when the _Man_ spoke. Torchwick would never forget that voice, the voice of the monster that had cornered him in that Dust store… The room was suddenly cold.

"Your leader Mr. Taurus is lying."

Roman saw out the corner of his eyes, Cinder, Mercury, Emerald, Taurus himself, all of them looking around, confused as all Hell.

"You're being used."

The crowd was murmuring, whispering silently, the congregation of their quiet questions nearly deafening. Somehow the muted words of the _Man_ pierced through the wave of intelligible speech.

"They don't care about you."

"Find him!" Taurus yelled. Some obeyed, the others… they stayed in place, listening to the hypnotic terror that was the voice.

"Many of you will die today."

The crowd began to panic, there was no reason to believe the voice, but they did so anyways. All of Cinder's awful shrieking and threats, her hands alight with anger, the chaos erupting in the warehouse as people sought to take cover, get out only to find the exits chained shut, even through the cacophony, the _Man's_ voice was heard clearly.

"This will be painful."

 _"Find him!"_ Cinder yelled. "Mercury! Emerald! Get this son of a bitch down here!"

Roman looked down at Neo beside him and realized that she too was scared.

"Who are you?" People shouted towards the sky, because that was where the voice was coming from. Like God speaking to the world for the first time, people could not understand their fate.

"I represent Passione. I had hoped that many of you would join us… this was not the case, sadly." The voice turned regretful. "To those who survive tonight, I hope that you will make the right decision. White Fang is a meaningless, bloated organization. Mr. Taurus is an obsessive, irrational man. Miss Pyromaniac doesn't care one bit about the plight of your people. Mr. Torchwick is here because he was forced to be… there's no Passione in this group. Every last one of you have weak minds and weaker hearts."

And came the hiss of gas. The smell of onions and mustard, strong garlic. Brown smoke creeping from the mountains of crates that lined the room. Quickly the gas spread—

A scream.

Heads turned, not towards the scream, but towards the ceiling, a series of smalls explosions rang out and the people stared towards the thousands of stars falling from the ceiling, burning so brightly that people went temporarily blind, so hot that the air itself turned to smoke. One of these stars fell on a White Fang member and Torchwick learned that the smell of flesh turned to smoke was stronger than whatever had caused the smell of onions.

"This is your… punishment."

The White Fang member was burning alive, all the White Fang members, all those touched by the falling stars were burning alive, spots of fire erupting on their skins, all over the floor where the stars had fallen unabated, sending streaming clouds of gaseous concrete that settled heavily over the ground, mixing with the brown cloud of mustard gas, poisoning the entire world, the entire crowd.

"If you want to live… _get out_."

The span of less than ten seconds and the White Fang had been shattered.

Roman grabbed Neopolitan by the wrist and ran for the door, his cane gun brandished, pushing Faunus out of the way, uncaring of their doomed fates— all Roman wanted to do was to live.

 _"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"_ People were dying all around, burnt alive by the white phosphorous fires, their flesh seared and souls damned to eternal Hell, through clothes and through flesh and through bone the starfire continued, never once stopping, never once caring about sacred pain. And Roman ran as he never did before.

"Roman!" Neo raised her umbrella toward the sky, blocking a falling star from connecting with the criminal's orange hair. "Be careful!"

And Roman tripped over a body, scrambled to his feet, and continued his run towards the exit. The heavy chains that had stopped the door from being opened earlier had finally been destroyed by a hasty application of gunfire.

All around the bodies were mounting and Roman had no idea where his employers were. He didn't care. He didn't even like working with those brats. He needed to live, he and Neo needed to get to safety, something, anything— explosions sounded from outside, huge thundering booms, rainbow colored fire, Dust burning, the ground torn asunder by powerful shockwaves.

An arm came out of the clouds of acrid poison around them and impacted heavily into Roman's face. From the distinctive, tattered sleeve, Roman could tell that it was _Adam's_ arm.

"Oh, fuck me." He whispered and regretted all the choices that led up to this Hellish moment. He didn't care about the White Fang leader, but if even Taurus hadn't been able to escape the danger… Roman would manage, he would always manage.

People were running, coughing into the dense stone gas and smoke miasma that was growing inside the warehouse, many fell, suffocating, and were trampled by their peers, others burned to death as white phosphorous set them ablaze, more felt the cloying onion scent of sulfur mustard blistering their insides… But they had to run if they wanted to live, through the fire, through the poison gas, over the bodies.

Outside the warehouse, under the cold, uncaring moon, under the twinkling, mischievous stars that seemed to be laughing at all the mortals under their cruel gaze— it wasn't much better. Some sort of explosive devices had been scattered across the nearby area, always near stacks of shipping freight, vehicles, any sort of detritus that would become deadly shrapnel when exposed to exploding hydrogen gas clouds, stars going supernova in miniature.

Dozens of White Fang members lay on the ground, dying and dead mingling, a hundred types of blood coming together to make a grand ocean. Buried underneath a heap of bodies, Roman made out a moaning Emerald Sustrai, blood and burns covering her coffee brown skin. Neither he nor Neopolitan stopped to help.

This was about survival now, and the world was being torn apart by fire and chemicals. In front of them was an entire legion of refugees, White Fang members running from their disastrous meeting. All of them injured, burning with hellfire that would never burn out, choking on fumes of burning men and melted concrete slag.

Behind and around them was chaos, fire, poison gas, and the _voice._

"Those who escape with your lives… think of your future."

Neo screamed, not out of pain, but out of terror, vaguely, Roman realized that it was the first time he had ever heard her scream like that…

"Roman! Behind—"

Roman turned and the world seemed to slow, there was a length of rebar, old and rusted, flying towards him, spinning a hundred and one rotations per second until impact, penetration, pain, disembodied pain. Roman watched the rebar pierce his Aura, break and slide past the remnants of his ribs, felt his punctured lungs cramping around the dirty metal bar—

 **AN: wow! End of chapter! Another very long AN.**

 **I decided that in this fic, there will be three distinct groups, Passione/criminals, Atlesian military, and Beacon academy. It's pretty obvious where this is going, right? Diavolo/Doppio vs Risotto vs Bruno.**

 **While I had initially decided to keep crossover characters to Diavolo and Bruno, Risotto was too tempting for me to pass up. He is an excellent character, just enough background is given on him to flesh him out, but his history and personality is vague enough to play with. Interesting guy with an amazingly cool Stand power.**

 **Metallica is probably the strongest Stand when it comes to killing people in RWBYverse. It can just make blades and scissors and needles inside a Huntsman, bypass their Aura completely, and kill them. There aren't any limitations to Metallica's power save for a 10 meter (30 feet?) range which gives a lot of room for more creative applications. We see that Risotto can use Metallica to become invisible. In this chapter Risotto used Metallica to escape his handcuffs, manipulate the door (the hinges and lock/handle) is metal.**

 **In regard to Risotto's character, he is obviously unafraid to use violence, he tortured Doppio in the most terrifying ways. He is shown to be highly analytical, serious, and vengeful. Still, we know very little about his out of combat habits and personality, so hopefully I will be able to create a compelling character out of him.**

 **To address the chemical attack that Diavolo carried out, here's how it worked.**

 **Passione issuing a general invitation for people, including White Fang members, to join. We saw once Doppio inviting a couple Faunus. Obviously, as White Fang members are hunted down if they betray the organization, there is great risk involved. Few people would join Passione if it meant that the Fang would hunt them down. They don't know if Passione is powerful enough to protect them and not all of them are as desperate as the ones that Doppio recruited.**

 **Since White Fang, and by proxy, Cinder, were feeling threatened by a gang encroaching on their plans, she and Adam Taurus called for a meeting.**

 **Doppio/Diavolo caught wind of said meeting through the White Fang members that Doppio had recruited, they decided to attack. Diavolo called Mr. White a couple days in advance to make chemical weapons (mustard gas and white phosphorous). Chemical weapons because they would easily bypass someone's Aura (no one in series is shown to block gas with it) and because there is a huge difference in a bombing and being subject to poison gas. Using chemical weapons to attack a target shows not only ruthlessness, but a huge amount of resources to develop said weapons. It sends a message that a bombing could never send, especially because the effects of a chemical weapons attack is so much more horrendous than a bombing (there is a reason why they're banned IRL). Yes, Adam lost an arm. Everyone was affected by the attack in some way, how they were affected will be seen later…**

 **I have plans for Bruno, he will see Team RWBY and JNPR often, but they won't be his main group at Beacon.**

 **Passione will likely spread like crazy, and Cinder's plans are pretty much moot now. Unless she listens to some advice…**

 **Risotto will be associated with the Atlesian military for the foreseeable future.**

 **Thanks for reading this shitty chapter, hope you enjoyed. Leave suggestions/reviews?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: marrow**

 **Did you know: all chapters are written at 3-5 am and are never, ever proof read!**

A confessional stall, the wrought iron covering the window, obscuring Risotto's vision of the priest. He couldn't remember the last time he had done confession, probably decades ago. While Risotto had been raised a Catholic, the latter half of his life, full of murder and sin, didn't offer any time or reason to go to church. Risotto was a killer, a sinner, and he found himself in a place of repentance…

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned." Risotto said bitterly, utterly and completely defeated, he didn't know how he had arrived in the confessional booth, nor did he remember the details of the fight against the Boss of Passione.

All Risotto knew was that he had been utterly defeated.

"Tell me of your sins, child." A deep voice, calm and kind, came from the small space that allowed sinner to speak to priest.

"Murder. I have killed many people." Risotto said, it was the first and most obvious crime. "I was a gangster, an assassin for the mob I worked with. I killed people and I earned money for it."

The priest spoke solemnly. "You haven't said if you repent or not, son. Do you feel guilty for the lives you have ended? Anoint yourself with _Salvation_ , the blood of Jesus may wash away your sins if you confess."

Risotto thought back to the first man he had ever killed, the bastard that had run over his cousin, only sentenced to a couple years in prison before going free… that had been revenge. It was a terrifying thought, but Risotto felt no guilt over that murder, the murder that he had done without the help of his Metallica. A gunshot to the head and the drunk driver that had killed his cousin… that man was no more, not even a face to help identify the body.

And every other killing after that, Risotto did not regret. Murder had been his life, his destiny, his duty.

"I am not sorry, Father. It is a sin to lie to a man of the cloth."

"So it is." The priest didn't sound dismayed or horrified as Risotto had predicted. "What _do_ you regret in life then? What sin do you consider more terrible than that of murder?"

It weighed heavily on him, the death of his friends. "Failure, Father. I failed to avenge the people closest to me." The rest of _La Squarda_ had been roped into Risotto's ill-fated rebellion, the black-eyed assassin's personal crusade to avenge the deaths of Sorbet and Gelato, to make the world right and fair, and Risotto's ambition had led them all to death. Vengeance was a terrible thing to behold, whether it be righteous or petty.

That was how it had all started. Revenge had started Risotto on his first killing, then the second, then the third, and so on.

"My pride and selfishness led to the deaths of many, Father."

"Pride leads to death, my son. The _Book_ tells us that pride is a cardinal sin, a sin only worthy of death."

"I am guilty then. Will God forgive me?"

The priest sighed, and Risotto sensed great tiredness from the man. "No. God will not forgive those who cannot forgive themselves. You are guilty, my son. You know you are guilty. This is the knowledge that _expelled Adam from paradise_. You have eaten from the Tree of Knowledge. Ignorance is no longer an option."

… Risotto stewed, his mind racked by guilt.

"I cannot forgive myself, Father. Not until I have my revenge." What a thing to say to a priest. Those who preached the doctrine of turning the other cheek, of kindness and generosity… "I must have it, Father. The man who caused the deaths of my comrades, he must die. I must have confirmation of his death."

"You said yourself, my son. _You_ are the reason your comrades are dead. Not some other man."

The words cut Risotto like a razorblade. "I know, Father. I know." And yet, Risotto could not admit his guilt, he could not seek forgiveness because he could not forgive himself. He knew he was guilty. He knew that he was the reason for the death of the rest of _La Squarda_.

"You recognize this now, don't you son?" Risotto heard the priest standing from his seat on the other side of the wall. "You will not forgive yourself, you _never_ forgive yourself until you succeed. And that is impossible. The forgiveness you seek lies with a man no longer in this universe. A hundred thousand eternities of possibilities, different worlds, and permutations… you never forgive yourself. You never will. There is no place for you in _my Heaven…"_

This was damnation that Risotto had never thought possible.

"What is this talk of possibilities and worlds, Father? _Your_ Heaven? _This_ universe?"

"You'll see."

An arm stabbed through the small window that allowed Risotto to talk to the priest, a silvery white arm with a speedometer on the hand… and Risotto was expelled from the universe that he called home.

* * *

"Cinder," Mercury called from the living room, his voice raspy and bleak. "Emerald's dead."

It wasn't a surprise. Out of the three of them, Emerald had sustained the worst injuries. If anything, Cinder had been expecting it.

"Oh," she supposed she should have felt anger over the death of one of her closest friends, but today, just a day after that terrible firebombing, she didn't feel anything but shame. Emerald had died because of _her_. The almost Fall Maiden laughed sadly. If she hadn't been so confident, if she had just foreseen an attack by Passione, if she had just told everyone to run instead of search for the attackers… but that was in the past. Cinder couldn't change it no matter how hard she tried.

She sat up from her bed, wincing as the blistered skin on her side folded and shifted so that she could move. Cinder hadn't ever known that pain could get that bad. Sweating, near tears, Cinder stood on shaky knees, allowing her Aura to compensate for her momentary weakness.

"Merc, are you…"

"What, Cinder."

Cinder slinked from her bed towards the living room, wincing every step, feeling every touch of fire that the mustard gas had left.

"I'm sorry." Cinder didn't really know what to say or how to feel. Failure on this sort of scale was something she had avoided thus far.

"It's not your fault." There was such a darkness on Mercury's face, one that Cinder had seen once, when she had first recruited him, when young Mr. Black had killed Mr. Black the senior…

On a sofa was Emerald, clean brown skin turned an angry shade of red black from heavy bruising, a burn on her chest the size of a fist that went straight through her breast, exposing dry white bone and glistening black charcoal flesh, there were cuts all over the body, deep ones, shallow ones, one that ran straight through her inner thigh, _that_ had been a pain to deal with, so much blood gushing from one place… neither Cinder nor Mercury had any real experience with medicine outside of first aid. They hadn't ever really needed it. Everyone in Cinder's faction, including Emerald, was a cut above the rest, easily capable of overcoming the average Huntsman in combat, there weren't any real _threats_ against them.

Across from the corpse, in a recliner, a toolset on the adjacent coffee table, Mercury stared wistfully forward, his eyes glazed and unfocused, pregnant with tears. His damaged leg lay forgotten on the floor in front of him.

"How long till you can walk again?" Cinder asked. For the time being, Mercury would have to be the caretaker, she didn't think she could make any journey for groceries or medical supplies that they had to have.

"I can move just fine." There was a single crutch leaning against the recliner that Mercury was seated at. "I've been taking care of you and Em— you, haven't I?"

Mercury had saved Cinder's life last night. The assassin's son, with his flexibility and acrobatics, had dodged most of the explosions, clouds of gas, and fire quite easily. While Cinder was no slouch when it came to the sort of maneuvers needed to fight, doing so in a closed space with three hundred panicking White Fang members crowded around her, that was something she hadn't been able to do. Several times that night, while Cinder and Emerald and Mercury ran for safety, the man had been the one to push Cinder and Emerald out of the way of explosions, shrapnel, deadly glowing stars…

"Thanks Merc." Cinder couldn't help but let affection and gratitude seep into her voice. "You've really pulled your weight yesterday."

" _And_ yours," Mercury smiled sadly. "Couldn't manage Emerald though—" The assassin's son began to cry. His shoulders heaving, tears falling freely. "I couldn't, I— I _saw_ it coming. You know? I turned my head and saw Em and I saw the bomb next to her and I wasn't _fast_ enough. I couldn't."

What was there to do? All the regret in the world couldn't bring back even one person.

"It's not your fault." Cinder said lamely. "You said before, it was Passione." _It was my fault_ , she wanted to say. It all came back to her damn pride, her belief that she was untouchable, that the rest of the world was beneath her, the destined, future Fall Maiden. She couldn't.

What next? Neither of them wanted to ask or think about the future, not with Emerald's death so near. Honor her memory? What memory? What legacy had the girl left? Who but Mercury and Cinder would remember her? When would they forget?

For they would forget.

What next?

Anger hazed through Cinder's mind, dulling the constant pain for a brief instant. All her plotting, the sacrifices she had given, the power she could have had was very nearly unattainable now. Salem would punish her, perhaps even cut ties with her, Cinder knew this. The Mother of Grimm took failure poorly. Valuable as Cinder was, even she, Salem's protégé would not be above excommunication.

"Mercury," Cinder said slowly, "how are you feeling?"

"Cinder, what—"

"This is serious. How are you feeling. Emerald is… dead. We were _humiliated_ yesterday. How do you feel?" If nothing, Cinder was good at talking to people. "Are you okay with that?"

Mercury wasn't.

Neither was Cinder. She would never make the mistake of underestimating a threat ever again. _Passione_ would burn.

* * *

There was only one thing left to do now. Doppio sighed and sat down on the floor. The sofa was taken up by the girl he had brought in, and in Doppio's bed was a man who the Boss had wanted alive.

 _"POTENTIAL ALLIES."_ The Boss had called them.

Doppio sent a message to one of the lower ranking members of Passione: "point, don't click."

Immediately after, Doppio made a call. Glancing at the glowing red numbers on the clock, it was half past four, the best time to make such calls.

 _"Hello?"_ After the fifth ring, a blurry, sleepy voice answered.

"Mr. Braith, so nice to speak with you again." Doppio smiled tiredly. He loved talking with the Police Commissioner, it was just so fun to torment the elderly man. "You've been doing a splendid job, recently. I hope for your sake that you can continue…"

There was much shuffling and rustling of sheets over the Scroll as Braith left his bed and made for somewhere away from his sleeping wife.

" _Thank you,"_ the Police Commissioner said sarcastically. _"Always a pleasure to help you out."_

"Now, Mr. Braith, Jeremiah, that won't do." Doppio tutted. "Stop outside your daughter's room, please."

 _"My what?"_ Braith whispered furiously. _"What is this all about? I've been doing as you requested! The investigations into the drug trade and Passione has been limited!"_

"And you've been doing a great job. I just have a little something more to ask from you." Doppio giggled. "Don't worry, it isn't as if you're not getting anything out of it. Open the door to your daughter's bedroom."

Doppio heard a slight creak through the Scroll.

"Look at her forehead. Look at sweet, sleeping Cloudia's forehead." Doppio knew exactly what it looked like. The message he had sent earlier had been to a marksman, one of Passione's employees that was always stationed near the Police Commissioner's home. "See that?"

Braith breathed heavily, through the Scroll it sounded like a rhinoceros snorting. There was a red dot, the telltale mark of a laser sight resting on his daughter's forehead. The young girl was sleeping, unaware of death so closeby.

 _"You have my daughter at gun point."_

"Your wife too. And your son" Doppio picked at his teeth with a nail. "You're going to listen closely."

 _"Yes…"_

"That's good to hear!" Doppio had been worried that the man might actually grow a spine. "So, Braith, when you go into work tomorrow, you're gonna hear some scary news about an _explosion_ and some death White Fang fuckers. You curious? You wanna know who did it?"

Braith stammered.

"Not _Passione_. Alright? Not. Us. Pin it on anything else. You know what's on the line."

* * *

 _"In essence," Risotto began, "I am in an unfamiliar place. It would end badly for me to make enemies without any resources. I owe you a debt for having saved my life. I will cooperate with you for now…"_

The question, of course, was _why_ Risotto Nero was sitting in Class520, an upscale Mistrali-Atlesian fusion restaurant, instead of a prison cell.

Risotto knew why. _Winter_ knew why. The waiters that rushed to serve could probably guess why.

"Try the Romanoff, it's quite good."

Winter looked forward balefully as her companion pushed forward a small plate of cut strawberries and fluffy white cream. "You're eating on taxpayer money, so _do_ try and enjoy yourself," she said sarcastically. "And no, I won't. _Thanks_." Winter rolled her eyes.

"Suit yourself." Risotto's black eyes crinkled as he smiled and opened his mouth, devouring a cream coated strawberry. "I hardly think that Joe Shmoe would begrudge me a meal. Hospital food is bland and tasteless. A man of _refined_ taste and _exceptional_ culture deserves better."

"That _Romanoff_ you like so much is nearly twenty Lien!" Winter hissed. "And don't get me _started_ on the entrée!" She had grown up in wealth and luxury, but at least she had learned to be prudent with money. Twenty Lien for such a small saucer of desert was certainly wasteful.

The man in black tutted his tongue disapprovingly. "Calm down, dear Winter. You aren't the one paying."

"Neither are you."

The thought seemed to be fairly novel for Risotto, for he took a moment to think. "I am not accustomed to paying for my meals. Where I am from, meals were generally free for a man such as myself." Even though he hadn't had an official territory as a mafioso, the citizens around his base of operations soon got to hearing rumors about his job as an assassin and as a member of Passione. Out of generosity (terror) most eateries had allowed Risotto to eat for free.

But Winter didn't know that, nor did she care. The Specialist checked her Scroll. Perhaps five minutes and Ironwood would arrive. Thankfully the _freak_ sitting across from her had been extremely cooperative so far, even going so far as to allow Winter to handcuff one of his arms to the chair.

They had left the hospital to allow normal operations to resume. Embarrassingly, Risotto had been the one to remind Winter that a lengthy evacuation of the entire hospital floor would put immense strain on both staff and patients. So— they had left, Risotto with his hands restrained behind his back, a calm smile on his face, and Winter, frantically messaging Ironwood to come as soon as possible.

"I must thank you for letting me eat. I was beginning to worry that I would have to do something drastic to get a good meal." Risotto poured himself more brandy from the tall glass bottle that had been brought for him. "People could have gotten hurt, you know."

Winter gritted her teeth at Risotto's teasing. The assassin had explained what he had done to Steels and Werther, and from what Winter had seen from the fiasco in the hospital room and the blood bath where the black-eyed man and been initially found, she knew that _drastic measures_ meant indiscriminate killing, something that she could not allow.

"You have that look on your face again. Is something wrong? Is my company insufficient for a woman such as yourself?" Risotto asked smugly, finishing his plate of strawberries and cream, washing it away with the alcohol.

"Why haven't you killed me?"

"Beg pardon?" Risotto asked, an expression of confusion on his face.

Winter sighed and steeled her eyes, looking straight into the pools of black in front of her. "Why haven't you killed me?" It didn't make sense to her. From what she had seen, and from what little Risotto had said about himself, Winter knew she was dealing with a serial murderer, a disgusting, violent man who didn't care about taking lives. The only reason that she herself couldn't do anything to him was fear of death.

She didn't know exactly how it happened, but razor blades and scissors had appeared _inside_ or Risotto Nero's victims. She didn't know the range of the ability, how many people it could be used on, or if there were any limits at all. Without that knowledge, she couldn't act without risking the lives of everyone around her.

Risotto's calm expression turned stormy. "The weak can't decide anything. They can't decide how they live, so they can't decide how to die. The strong decide that for them. Consider these people," the assassin finished his brandy and gestured to the restaurant patrons that were at the other tables. "I could kill them all. All it would take is a single thought."

"So, why don't you?" Winter pressed. "Why don't you do it? You could kill them all and slip away, you could escape, you wouldn't be in this situation!" She noticed that the handcuff she had used was made of steel. "… you let me handcuff you because it didn't matter, right?"

Risotto rolled his eyes, an innocent movement made terrifying by his red pupils swirling in the sea of black. "Correct," he raised his handcuffed arm freely, and Winter watched as the metal bent around his wrist, opening completely to let the arm through, then closing back on itself, returning to its original shape. "It was for your ease of mind, and so that you'd let me eat…"

"Your original question." Risotto decided to address. "You found me in a state of vulnerability. You brought me to a hospital. Somehow, the paramedics reattached my foot," the assassin lifted up his pant leg, revealing a large scar running all the way around his lower shin. "I told you at the hospital that I owe you a _debt_. I told you the power behind my _Stand_ ," Risotto still didn't know how she was able to see Metallica, "something that only _one_ other person has ever lived to know… I thought I had died. _Aerosmith_ had shot me. I was bleeding…" Risotto mumbled to himself the last part. Truly, he had no idea how he had survived that battle with the Boss. His heart burned for revenge, his own humiliation, and the death of his comrades— if Risotto ever met _that boy_ ever again, he would kill him, no more questions.

* * *

"A meeting over lunch this time, Ozpin?" Bruno asked as he exited the elevator. The Headmaster seemed agitated, eager that he had entered the room.

Ozpin nodded quickly. "Ah, Mr. Bucciarati. Not quite a meeting, more of a… consultation."

"About?" Bruno hoped it was about Passione.

The Headmaster pulled up an image on his Scroll. "An associate of mine has discovered this man. He called himself Risotto Nero."

A man hunched over a table, eating, a beautiful woman seated across from him, a look of annoyance and— was that _fear_ that Bruno saw— on her face. Black eyes, silver-purple hair. A small hood over his head, baubles dangling from the tattered edges.

"That's impossible." Bruno ground out, his teeth gritted together. "That man should be dead." Narancia's _Aerosmith_ had been the one to land the killing blow. "I saw the body. His head was destroyed."

"By your own admission, you should be dead as well. Perhaps the same mechanism by which you arrived on this world, has also brought Mr. Nero here?"

But Bruno didn't know about that. He had no idea how he and Diavolo had arrived on this world, Risotto Nero was just another added mystery. _Why?_ Why had they all been brought here? The war for power, for control of Passione, there had been three factions: Bucciarti's own gang, Diavolo and his loyalists, and _La Squarda_. What sort of fate had brought them all together?

"What do you need to know about him?" Bruno asked. "I can't promise you any _real_ answers. I myself did not know the man personally. The assassination squad was a very tightknit group. Tell me, how was he found?"

"In a mess of blood." Ozpin swiped his Scroll, bringing up a new image. "He was heavily injured when he was found. Regrettably, the people around were all killed as well." The pictures were clear, not blurry at all, painting a picture of death and bodies and blood.

"Not quite his _style_." The rumors about the execution squad had been widespread, especially about their leader, and Risotto was almost certainly the leader of _La Squarda_. "Supposedly, he was a professional. You might guess this, but the mark of a good assassin is professionalism and cleanliness." Bruno had performed executions in the past as well. "Risotto Nero must have been under incredible duress if he resorted to such crudity."

"Do you know his… _Stand_ power? If he has one," Ozpin added hastily.

Bruno shook his head. "No. Stand abilities are usually kept secret from others unless it is absolutely necessary. I told you before, I never met the man."

Ozpin looked disappointed. "The woman sitting across from him, Specialist Schnee, she reported that Risotto Nero _told_ her the abilities of his Stand. Of course, she doesn't know what a _Stand_ is… According to her, Risotto Nero described it as the ability to manipulate iron. Is that in line with what you know? It is very different from your own power."

"Certainly possible. Headmaster," Bruno said, "is it possible for me to speak with Risotto Nero? While I was never an _ally_ of his, we had similar goals. If he hears of Passione existing in Vale, he will come. Nero would make for a powerful ally."

"Mr. Bucciarati, this man is a killer. You said so yourself."

Bruno nodded slowly. "Yes. But he is a _professional_ killer. He will not kill indiscriminately."

"He has," Ozpin leaned forward in his seat. "That is the point, Mr. Bucciarati. Ironwood considers this man an incredible threat—"

"He _is_ a threat. Where he is now, surrounded by civilians, he could kill them all. I guarantee it. Even without knowing what his Stand power was, even if he didn't have a Stand power… he is that sort of man. Deadly. Dangerous. He is a killer through and through, but he is _not_ a psychopath."

"You're saying he can be reasoned with?"

" _Everyone_ can be reasoned with," Bruno said. "What you need to understand… is that even killers are people. Restrict his movement, limit his freedom, certainly, but to remove a potential ally in that way is foolish."

But convincing Ironwood wouldn't be that easy.

"I don't know if that will be enough."

"Tell him this, then." Bruno said seriously. "Tell him that there's a poison in the world. Tell him— tell him that people die every day, that more will die, that they _must_ die to expel this poison. You need to be able to work with monsters."

"Work with monsters." Ozpin nodded. "On another, less urgent note… have you perhaps watched the news today?"

Bruno hadn't. Ozpin had given him a Scroll to use earlier, and there was even a television provided for him in his room, but Bruno preferred to spend his time in the library, learning about the world he was now forced to call him home.

"No. Not today," Bruno sensed the uneasiness in the Headmaster's face. "Did something happen?"

"Well, you could say that…"

* * *

Winter's Scroll rang.

"Yes, General Ironwood?" She picked up immediately, answering with military professionalism, drilled into her.

 _"Specialist Schnee? Are you alright?"_

"Yes, General Ironwood."

 _"Do you mind putting him on? I want to talk to this bastard."_

Winter was surprised. She hadn't been expecting Ironwood to sound so calm. She had been expecting fire and anger from the General. She handed her Scroll over to the assassin. "It's for you."

"Hello?" Risotto asked in his gravely tone. "The famous General?"

 _"Speaking."_

"An honor to meet you."

 _"I've heard much about you, Mr. Nero."_ A voice full of scorn.

"I've heard… little."

 _"Why."_

"Why, indeed…"

 _"You didn't have to do that."_ There was real and concrete anguish in the General's voice. _"Twelve innocent people. And Privates Steel and Werther…"_

Despite everything, Risotto's lips curled up in a smile. "When a dog is cornered, it will bite. You understand, don't you? Why don't you speak to me in person? Are you afraid?"

Risotto heard the General sigh.

"You're afraid, aren't you? You _know_ that to meet me in person is to allow yourself to die. You must think that there is a sort of _range_ to my ability, don't you? Perhaps you will evacuate the restaurant? You are naïve if you think I will allow myself to be taken in like a common animal. I came here, to a public restaurant, _for a reason_. They are my hostages. Bring your soldiers in here and every person here will die." Risotto stood from his seat, snarling now. "I will not be made your slave. I will _not_ be a prisoner. It is regrettable that you and I have to meet at all, but it is how it is. Whatever fate guides us, we must make do with what we have. I will tell you, I am alone. I will tell you that I am lost. I will tell you, that if you fuck with me, you're going to regret it. _Capisce?_ "

 _"You can't threaten me. For all I know, you're bluffing."_ There was much anger and hate in the General's tone, almost a physical vitriol came from the Scroll. _"We don't negotiate with terrorists."_

"Then you must start today. I estimate almost eighty people in the restaurant. Lunch hour is a busy time."

For all his talk of murder, Risotto knew that he would be killed if he didn't play this correctly. For whatever reason, a _general_ had been sent to deal with him. He didn't want to give up what he considered his second chance at life, free from Passione. Once the threat to the citizens was gone, Risotto would be killed. Of course, he could probably escape the premises with help from Metallica, but he wasn't sure if there were any thermal cameras to watch the scenes for movement. While he could hide himself from plain view, heat tracking cameras would easily spot Risotto. And of course, he didn't want to start his new life as a fugitive…

"What will it be, General?"

 _"Do you know of an organization called Passione?"_

Risotto dropped the Scroll. Had his heart stopped? No, but it was hammering.

* * *

When she heard a groan coming from Roman's room, her heart skipped a beat. She rose slowly from the spot on the couch that she had been occupying for the past couple hours, dress matted to her legs from warm and slight sweat.

Somewhere in the darkened living room was their savior. Neo wanted to wake him for more medical advice, but thought against it. She had to see for herself, first.

Neo entered silently, careful not to make the door creak.

In the muted sunlight streaming through the cracks between the curtains, Neo could make out Roman's face, pale and haggard, contorted by pain, plastered in sweat. His hair, usually so clean and sculpted, lay flat against his head, messy and tangled on itself.

"Who's there," the redhead asked. "Is that you, Neo?"

Ah, yes. Recognition. Neo smiled and stepped forward neatly, nodding her head.

"Neo, open up the blinds, will you?"

The girl complied, without a complaint, as she always did. Sunlight filled the dreary room. There wasn't anything there besides the air mattress that Torchwick lay on and a nightdesk, covered with basic medical supplies.

"Pretty fucked up night, wasn't it?" Roman let out one short laugh before groaning in pain. "Thought I was done for."

Neo had to agree. When that piece of rebar had caught Roman in the stomach… she had feared that she had lost the only person in the world that mattered to her.

"Neo?" Roman asked, puzzled. "You talked yesterday, didn't you?"

She had. The shock from seeing impending death… she had forgotten to stay silent in her panic.

"Why aren't you talking now?"

Neo pulled up her Scroll and typed a message. _"You're safe now."_ Since Roman's Scroll had been destroyed, she let Roman read the message before taking it back. _"Nothing to say, much."_

"How'd we get here, Neo? Why aren't we dead? Or in jail for that matter…" Roman grimaced. "Do you know what happened to Cinder and her gang? What about Adam Taurus? I remember seeing his arm fly off…"

Neo typed up her response. _"I don't know what happened to the others, but I think White Fang is over. Most of the leadership was there last night, and the news said that a couple hundred bodies were found. People who got away will probably turn up soon. The stuff they used was nasty."_

"Of course, the news knows about this now… what'd they say?"

 _"Just watch it later."_

"Alright… so how'd we get here?"

Neo grunted and jabbed a finger towards the door.

 _"I carried you out of the warehouse district. Some guy found me like five minutes later. I would've fought him, but you were hurt. He said that his Boss wanted to talk to you."_

Roman groaned. He knew exactly what was coming. "You know who that is, Neo?"

The girl shook her head.

"Guy's from Passione. Probably. I told you how they wanted to recruit me, right?"

Now Neo nodded.

"Damn… I didn't really want to get involved with these guys."

 _"Why? They helped us. The boy even said that he'd let you go whenever you felt up for it. Guy even had a doctor brought here."_

Great, now he owed the mafia that had slaughtered the White Fang.

"The reason, sweet Neo, that I don't get involved with guys like this, is that you can't really… stop." It sounded almost lame, but that was the fact of the matter. From what Torchwick knew of Passione and the drug trade in Remnant, retribution was a terrible, terrible thing. "And the guy running this thing is also a nutjob. There are rumors…"

* * *

Risotto was impressed. The 'Bullhead', as the General had referred to the VTOL, was far more advanced than any helicopter he had seen before.

But, time for amazement would have to wait. There were important things to talk about.

"General," the assassin began, "I'll promise you. No more unnecessary casualties by my hand for as long as we are, ah… working together."

It seemed impossible, but the General's expression turned even stormier at that. He was a big man, tall and strong, classically handsome, rugged like some superman. Risotto reached out with Metallica and sensed a gun at the man's hip, a prosthetic arm, nothing else very interesting.

"Do you know a man named Bruno Bucciarati?" Ironwood asked, ignoring the pleasantry.

Another name that Risotto thought he would never hear again.

"I know _of_ him." If Risotto remembered correctly, it had been one of Bucciarati's lackeys that had dealt the final blow on him. "Never met him before. We were briefly part of the same organization." It wasn't anger that he felt towards his fellow gangster. Business was business, after all. Diavolo on the other hand…

Ironwood had kept a close eye on Risotto, trying to scope out any signs of deception.

"And this organization… it was Passione?"

"Correct." The deduction was obvious, but too terrifying for Risotto to want to make. "I assume then… that you have access to Bruno Bucciarati in some way?"

Ironwood grunted. While he respected Ozpin, he really did think that he was being far too liberal with his 'alien' charge. Only decades of friendship and trust between Ozpin and himself had swayed him away from more substantive actions.

"He's living at Beacon Academy right now. One of Headmaster Ozpin's folk brought him there."

"Unharmed and unmolested?"

"From what I know of, yes."

Risotto weighed his options. Quite honestly, he was eager to meet with Bucciarati, having someone in a similar situation to him would not only be reassuring, but the other gangster might know something of _why_ they had arrived in Remnant. On the other hand, setting up a meeting would likely mean that Risotto would have to comply and cooperate with Ironwood…

The assassin shot an appraising look at his unwilling host, taking stock of his taciturn glare.

"What are your plans for me, General?"

Ironwood sighed for the thousandth time that day.

"If it were up to me, I'd put you in jail." But Ironwood knew that it would be nearly impossible to safely secure Risotto Nero, his so-called _Stand_ power was not understood very well, and with such a lethal ability at his disposal, there would always be significant danger of escape and injury of any prison staff.

Risotto had honestly considered the possibility of the General attempting to execute him, but if it wasn't mentioned, it was best not to bring it up. The assassin was confident in his own abilities, confident that he would be able to escape and foil any and all attempts at capture— but that was not a life that Risotto wanted to live, to be hunted and harried at every corner, unable to even buy food to eat without being beset by the law…

"What then? You spoke of Passione, you spoke of Bruno Bucciarati, you spoke of things you have no reason to know… what will you do? You may be unfamiliar with the world of drugs and death, ego and money… but I am not. I am not faultless, and I doubt a man such as yourself can overlook the deaths of the people I've killed this far. You hate the fact that I am a killer."

The assassin spoke truly, for Ironwood's expression turned ugly.

"You think I've even thought about letting you go free? As far as I'm concerned, you're nothing but a rabid dog. You should be put down." Ironwood ranted. "Ozpin thinks that you can be useful… I couldn't disagree with him more— but—" the General took a deep breath to calm himself down. "I trust him. I may not always agree with him, but Ozpin has a habit of being right. No matter how annoying it is…"

Risotto leaned forward slightly, waiting on his fate.

The decision seemed to weigh heavily on Ironwood, his face solemn and drawn. "I'm going to send you to Vale… eventually."

The assassin brightened, it looked like he would be able to Bucciarati sooner rather than later.

"Long as you take a chaperone with you."

Fuck, Risotto's small grin collapsed. He knew what was coming.

* * *

"Mr. Bucciarati," Ozpin folded his hands together, worried. "Yesterday, there was a… an explosion, caused by a gas leak, the police say."

"You don't trust them?" As a member of Passione, Bruno was no stranger to corrupt cops. In fact, his number two, Abacchio, had been a corrupt cop, once upon a time. "Why does this matter? Tragic it may be, it hardly seems relevant."

"Some background, then." Ozpin said sadly. "Passione showed up two weeks before you did, Bruno. We have reason to believe that they are responsible for a huge increase in drug related crimes, extra judicial killings, prostitution and human trafficking has also seen a rise… the police have done nothing, or, seem to be doing _something_. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"They are compromised, then. It is no surprise. Part of how Passione operated was to embed themselves into government and law enforcement, through bribes, favors, and threats. In Italy, local police were often apathetic or unable to deal with the gang. It probably is much the same here." Bruno had even been a part of this process. It was a common task to intimidate police officers or pay them off to ignore some crimes.

"Last night," Ozpin continued, "there was a White Fang meeting near the docks, in a warehouse. No one knew about it… or no one outside the organization was supposed to know about it. _That's_ where this so-called gas explosion happened. Police have found over a hundred bodies."

"Get to the point, Ozpin."

"Don't you find it odd? A gas explosion at the exact time and place of a White Fang meeting, Passione's largest competitor, it is obvious to me. The police are suppressing autopsies from being performed. They say it's wasteful when it's obvious that they died from the explosion… there _were_ shipping containers of Dust that were also destroyed in the explosion, and the police used that to further their argument that it was a simple, _fortunate_ coincidence."

It was a rough situation for Ozpin. Forensic evidence, investigation of crimes, capture and incarceration of criminals, that all fell under police authority. Officially, Huntsmen were limited to fighting the threat of Grimm and only very particular threats against society. Any evidence had likely been destroyed as well. Whatever Passione had done, the triggering of a Dust explosion, especially of Burn and Wind Dust in conjunction, all that was left of the crime scene was likely ash and charred stone.

There wasn't very much to do.

"Do you have any suggestions, Mr. Bucciarati?"

"Inform the government, perhaps. That is probably the most efficient thing to do… they can combat the corruption of the police department and fight against Passione in that way. Of course," Bruno shot Ozpin a wry grin, "the government may have been subverted already. If they haven't, working with the government will likely hasten Passione's attempts to infiltrate it. Assassinations are the favored method of making officials capitulate."

"Not possible. The government considers Passione to be a minimal threat. The Council will likely take minimal action."

"Show them what happened yesterday, then. Surely, they will understand the monster they are dealing with. If you allow the mafia to entrench itself… you will not be able to solve the problem. They will be too close to the civilian populace, too entrenched in their lives, to do anything."

There was a solution in the heads of both men. Kill Diavolo and the organization would fall apart.

"Perhaps infiltrate Passione itself?" Ozpin offered. "I could send an agent of mine to pose as a member."

"If they don't have experience being a criminal, they will not get far. The Boss is notoriously paranoid, he keeps tabs on everything so that he can identify traitors quickly. Besides… I have a feeling that whomever you were thinking about isn't very conspicuous."

That was true. Ozpin had been badly shaken by the events of the past night. White Fang and their terrorist attacks, Dust robberies, muggings, that was one thing. What Passione had done… a cold hearted and callous attack, uncaring of the lives of hundreds…

"I'm worried that Passione may strike again. It certainly seems they have the resources for it."

"Drug trade is highly lucrative. With White Fang crippled, Passione will likely try and recruit aggressively, using money as a draw instead of ideology. I wouldn't be too worried about another attack on such magnitude," Bruno said seriously. "The enemy will be focused on establishing and maintaining their status quo. The ideal situation for them would be society's ambivalence and apathy, allowing them to grow fat and wealthy off their business of spreading misery."

Ozpin sighed and wiped his glasses, looking as tired and vulnerable.

"Do you have any plans for today, Mr. Bucciarati?"

"Not particularly." Bruno stood from his seat, turning towards the elevator.

"You could sit in on lectures, you know. I'm sure Bartholomew or Peter would be more than happy to have you—"

"That won't be necessary. I learn better from books."

Ozpin felt a twinge of guilt. The more he spoke with Bruno, the more Ozpin realized that the former gangster wasn't a threat at all. There had been no incidents involving him that had been reported to the Headmaster, and checking up on him through the cameras every day revealed a rather mundane life. The man spent his days in the library, reading, learning about his strange new world… and Ozpin could see the pain of loss in those ice blue eyes, a pain that was being buried and hidden by layers of politeness and isolation.

But there was nothing to do.

* * *

Some girl was crying— had been crying— and Bruno could bear it no longer. Muted, muffled sobs, heaving shoulders, long black hair, wavy, a small black bow to top it.

Rationally, Bruno knew it to be about some trivial thing, some boy or some argument with a friend, something vapid like all the students here seemed to be. So, the fact that something so trivial be the cause of his chagrin was almost offensive to him.

He was in a library, damn it! He was trying to learn, reading an ethnography about the Faunus population in Vacuo, more specifically about a colony called Menagerie. The irony wasn't lost on Bruno.

From what he had read in other books and heard from other people or even what little he had understood about the nature of human society and their views towards the hybrids, Bruno understood them to be some downtrodden class in society, often rejected from employment and housing opportunities through roundabout policies that subverted the laws giving them equal rights— a tragic situation, but one that Bruno could do nothing about. Perhaps in a better world, a world without the threat of Passione looming so close, Bruno would champion the cause of equality and fairness, but the world was not so good. It reminded him eerily of Earth, the American Civil Rights movement, and the fight against apartheid. Bruno hadn't been alive for either, but they were rather famous historical happenings that nearly every educated human knew about.

But the blacks on earth had largely risen past and above the chains that bound them, making incredible strides towards equality in only the short span of several decades. Whatever problem existed between humans and Faunus would settle itself without Bruno's intervention.

Besides, Bruno had hardly met any Faunus, he had no personal stake in the matter.

It had been nearly ten minutes of continuous contemplation of earth and the strange similarities to Remnant, ten minutes of _not_ getting any reading done, and Bruno could stand it no longer. The gangster tried his best to be as polite as possible, especially towards civilians, but when something was bothering him…

The gangster stood and straighten his suit. He really had to get more clothes…

"Miss," he called out as he walked towards the crying girl, "I'm sorry to bother you—"

There was a small yowl from underneath the mess of hair and the girl flinched her head upwards, covering her face with her hands, wiping furiously.

"I'm sorry, was… was I being loud? Dust— I didn't think anyone would be here. I'll get out of your way."

The way it was said, so defeated and hopeless, made Bruno feel like a tool. How disgustingly callous of him, to interrupt a girl while they were crying, in obvious emotional distress… no matter how worthless the reason for the tears, that sort of impoliteness— it wasn't his style. It wasn't something that a _'gangstar'_ would do.

Bruno thought back to the boy he had inducted into his gang, Giorno Giovanna, and his aspirations. The boy had been four years Bruno's junior and a newcomer to the criminal underworld, but all the same Bruno had felt inspired by the blond. Giorno had been a shining light in their group, always pursuing his dream, fighting for every inch to get them closer to the Boss. Being a _gangstar…_ a romantic, childish view on what a criminal _should_ be, but one that Bruno could admire all the same. He would be kind when possible, and cold when necessary.

Tired and stressed as he was, Bruno forced himself to smile and banished the thoughts of Passione, the Boss, Risotto Nero. He would embody the traits of a _gangstar_ , as Giorno dreamt of.

"You don't have to leave, miss. I was just…" Bruno thought over his next words carefully, not really wanting to offer himself as an emotional tampon, but unable to resist the urge to do the right thing, to do the thing a _gangstar_ would do. "I couldn't leave someone to cry alone. Especially not in a library, of all places."

"It's nothing…" the girl sniffled, looking up, showing teary red eyes, a face blotchy with sadness. "Just— sometimes things happen."

"Things always happen." Bruno sat down at the table and motioned the girl to sit back down, smiling as kindly as he could. "Do you want to talk about it? I'm nothing but a stranger to you, but I am willing to lend an ear, if you need."

The girl shook her head violently. "No. No, thanks. I just need some time to think about something else…"

Her voice was so quiet, that Bruno had to strain to hear it. He could hear shyness and trepidation in it. She was uncomfortable with his presence.

"Do you want to talk? Not about whatever it is that has got you down, but about something else." Bruno offered. "Perhaps that would help put your mind in a more positive place."

"Uh…" the girl didn't know what to say. Usually she avoided strangers. Others would say that she was shy at best, anti-social at worst. But, there wasn't any cruelty she could sense in the man's voice. "Sure. I'm Blake. Blake Belladonna, by the way."

"Bruno Bucciarati. A shame we couldn't have met under better conditions." Bruno offered a hand, for a moment he thought the girl might ignore it, but it was for only a moment. A look of hesitation on Blake's face was overcome with small gratitude.

"You're Bruno?" Blake looked the man over, white suit, bare chest, tattoos, weird hair… almost certainly he was the boy that Yang had spent the _entire_ night harping about. Even Weiss, usually so hard to impress, had said positive things about meeting him. "My teammates told me about you."

"Blake Belladonna…" she must have been the 'B' on team RWBY. "You're the third member of Team RWBY?" Bruno laughed, a light, happy sound. "I hope they've told you nothing indecent."

Blake shook her head. "No, nothing like that. They just went over that they met you. Weiss said you were really polite, had a lot of 'class', as she likes to say. Yang said…" Blake couldn't repeat most of what Yang had said, she wasn't a stranger to such… lewdities, thanks to her choice in literature, but bringing up such topics was certain to lead to an awkward situation. "You left an impression on Yang."

Bruno got the message. While it was flattering that such a pretty girl thought of him in that way, the gangster wasn't interested in a relationship with any of the students at Beacon. While he was only a couple years older than the first-year students, but like he had spoken about with Ozpin, they lacked a certain maturity that Bruno didn't appreciate, would not accept in a romantic partner, perhaps if they weren't so naïve…

"Better than being received negatively, I suppose," Bruno mused. "I haven't integrated myself very well into the community here. I'm only a visitor."

"Why're you visiting?" Blake asked before quickly adding, "you don't need to tell me, of course."

While Bruno couldn't give a complete and truthful answer, he tried his best to give a satisfactory one. "Ozpin wants me here. We are collaborating on a certain issue."

Blake narrowed her eyes, confused. "You can't be much older than me. Why would Ozpin want someone like you? No offense."

"None taken." Bruno sought to find the words to describe his situation without revealing it. "As for Ozpin… the man prefers to keep a close eye on those who he does not feel completely comfortable with. Doubly so, if he knows little about them. Still, my work with Ozpin is to combat a growing threat in the world. Faith is needed to fight such a threat."

Blake wasn't exactly happy with the nebulous answer and decided to press further. "Wait, if the Headmaster knows so little about you like you claim, why would he want to work with you? What are you working on?"

"Hmm…" Bruno thought aloud. "Mostly crime. Organized crime in Vale has risen, apparently. Ozpin wanted someone who, let's say, _understands_ what is going on. Firsthand experience is always helpful."

The hidden Faunus blanched. There was no way… had this guy been a part of the White Fang? Suddenly she felt worried for herself. What if Bruno had seen her at a meeting before? Her Faunus ears were hidden, but obviously her face and voice could be distinguished. The White Fang masks didn't do much in the way of hiding an identity, what, with only half way covering the face. Even if Bruno was a White Fang traitor, revealing that to Ozpin could be disastrous. She could get expelled, kicked off her team, put in jail… Bruno didn't seem to recognize her, but Blake wasn't about to stick around and let his memory be refreshed by their conversation.

"I… I should get to class," Blake said abruptly and stood from her seat. "It was nice talking to you."

Quickly, the girl made for the library's exit. When she felt a hand on her shoulder, she nearly screamed.

She turned to see Bruno right behind her, no longer smiling affably, a serious expression on his face. Her discomfort only grew when she saw his mouth open and his tongue emerge, pink and glistening. Before she could pull away, Bruno's head lurched forward and gave Blake a long lick on the cheek.

" _This, Blake Belladonna, is the taste of a liar!_ " The man triumphantly declared, towering over the Faunus who had fallen to the ground in shock, wiping the wetness from her cheek. "I _knew_ from the expression on your face that there was something you were hiding, something you were afraid of… And from your sweat, I can taste _fear_. What would you be so keen to hide from me? What would make you run from me when I've been nothing but forthcoming?" Bruno explained his train of thought. "All I did was answer your question with the truth! I am working with Ozpin to fight _crime_ in Vale. To think that Passione would install a spy so quickly… you were afraid of being discovered, weren't you?"

Blake looked Bruno in the eyes, seeing nothing but righteous conviction in them. They were the eyes of a crusader, a man who would stop at nothing, let no tragedy halt him in his quest for justice. He was telling the truth… but, the Faunus had no idea what _Passione_ was.

"What?"

The older boy's expression of victory deflated slightly. "Passione. The gang that you're a member of. The gang on whose behalf you infiltrated this school." His handsome face contorted back into the glance of vitriol. "Don't try and act the fool. I know you're guilty. I _tasted_ you."

While Blake wanted to point out how disgustingly crude that sounded, the time wasn't appropriate. "Look, I have no idea what you're talking about. Okay? I don't know what Passione is. And I _was_ _not_ a member."

 _"Liar."_ Bruno snarled and called forth Sticky Fingers. "I'll give you one chance, _baldracca_."

The Cat Faunus didn't know anything about the floating figure behind Bruno, but she could feel it radiating hostility. She couldn't fight back— not without her weapons. Blake had no idea about how strong Bruno was or what his Semblance was… a fight with no prior knowledge on the enemy was not one that Blake was willing to get into.

Calling upon her own Semblance, Blake created three shadow clones, all of them appearing around her, leaping at Bruno, snarling, fingers brandished like claws, ready to gouge and rip.

 ** _"ARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARI!"_**

The clones dissipated into nothingness, only a moment of surprise before Bruno running forward in pursuit.

 ** _"ARI!"_** Sticky Fingers punched a table that lie between the fleeing Faunus and Bruno, instantly the table coming apart into two halves, allowing the Stand user to run through with minimal delay.

Blake, perhaps five seconds ahead of his pursuer, created two clones, sending them to delay the Stand user. She didn't need to turn around to know that they had been destroyed almost instantaneously by the strange figure floating behind the gangster.

But, Blake was faster, her Aura propelled her to inhuman levels of speed, and in the span of several seconds, she was able to exit the library, sending books and chairs and tables careening behind her to buy herself more time. All she needed to do was to find a teacher or something— Blake sprinted now, exiting the library in a flutter of papers, loose-leaves and small books tumbling through the air… The Faunus, straining herself, rounded the first corner she could. Goodwitch's combat class was just down the corridor and—

The wall to Blake's right _opened up_ and something stuck like a viper. A blur of cobalt and silver armor, the thunder crack of the hit, and Blake went flying in the opposite direction, bruises forming on her ribs, her newly depleted Aura the only thing protecting her from serious injury.

Blake hissed in pain, her sprint being cut to a sudden stop by the punch only exacerbated the injury to her side. Breathing incredibly painful, and for a fleeting moment, the pain allowed her to forget the world save for the worry that something might have broken inside of her. The Faunus briefly recognized the sound of an opening zipper, footsteps growing close to her, and words muttered angrily, words she had never heard before.

 _"_ _È finita, puttana di Passione."_ The young man stood above her, eyes blazing with a _dark determiation_ , her executioner and his sword, the floating ghost. **AN: woot** **Explanation on why Risotto is in Remnant. Risotto's** ** _fate_** **is to fight against Diavolo for the satisfaction of revenge. This is so innate to Risotto's personality that the desire for vengeance is** ** _always_** **present in his life. Without Diavolo for Risotto to struggle against and get his ultimate** **vengeance against, he has no purpose or fate, Pucci removes such people.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter seven: Clemmensen Reduction**

Winter watched the Ursa die, and for the first time in her life, she felt a reluctant sadness for the monster. It had been an almost majestic creature, likely centuries old, certainly smarter (and larger) than any Grimm she had seen previously, bone armor in some places thicker than a meter, incisors longer than she was tall… an anomaly to be sure. Certainly a Grimm that even a team of veteran Huntsmen would have difficulty defeating.

"Like taking candy from a baby." Her companion, the enigmatic, terrifying, Risotto Nero, smiled his wry smile and spoke in his gravel voice. "Doesn't really matter how big these things are. Blood is blood. Iron is iron. Dead is dead."

And it _was_ dead. From the gargantuan Ursa's open mouth, a torrent of blood, red and black, issued forth, had been issuing forth. Lolling out of the titanic head was an equally huge tongue, shredded into sausage meat by thousands of razorblades and needles, scalpel heads and staples and nails. One eye was deflated, a huge hole rent into the angry moist flesh by what appeared to be a solid metal pole, four inches in diameter, the other was still intact, but terrible to look upon, there was a mass of metal wire sticking in and out of the globular organ, turning it into some strange pincushion that leaked pink and clear fluid.

With the death of this monster, all the other Grimm had fled, knowing they were outmatched.

A full five minutes and the Ursa hadn't finished dissipating, it's corpse was half smoke and half bloody body.

Winter didn't understand how Risotto had managed it. The assassin had approached the Ancient Grimm, and once he reached a distance of about thirty feet, the carnage had started, the Ursa, mid-charge, fell to the ground as its knees burst in giant clouds of bone shards, marrow, blood. It squirmed and wiggled its body, a giant nugget of evil flesh with a head harder than stone and teeth sharp as saw blades, always inching closer to Risotto, roaring each time its body was disfigured by cruel steel flowers erupting from all over.

"What sort of Huntsman are you?" Winter asked, her breath coming out fast and labored. As if inspired by her namesake, the winds around her whipped up plumes of frothy, soft snow, snow that had fallen yesterday, today, a year ago, ten thousand years ago… they stood on a remote peak of the Atlesian mountain chain, where the temperature never rose a few degrees above freezing, where the cold was forever and the world was always white, except today where blood turned the world red.

Risotto looked like some sort of demon, the black dust rising from the body of the slain Grimm behind him, the huge patches of warm blood steaming on the snow all around him. He was in his usual black duster, chest still bare, showing supernatural resistance to the cold. Metallica allowed him to control not only the blood of others, but his own blood. It was an incredible testament to his own mastery of his Stand, that he could regulate his own blood flow, delicately enough so as to prevent damage to his blood vessels, but aggressively enough to keep his body at a comfortable temperature.

"Don't you remember? I am not a Huntsman. Just a killer." Risotto said plainly, staring now at Winter, the woman dressed so warmly in a thick parka and snow pants. It had been snowing ever since they were dropped off by Bullhead perhaps a mile down the mountain and probably had been for ages before that. "These Grimm… you say they are a serious problem?"

The black-eye found it easy to believe. While the average person would have found it difficult to kill the Ursa, any of the other member of _La Squarda_ , or any Stand user, could have easily taken care of the bear like creature. Pesci could have easily just hooked the creature's brain and pulled it out of the monster's body. Ghaccio could have flash frozen the entire creature, every ounce of blood could have been instantly turned to ice. Even their weakest member, Formaggio, could have defeated the monster, shrinking it down to the size of a mouse.

But he supposed it was the difference between being a Stand user and being a mundane fighter. Even the weakest Stand user had the potential to be a huge threat, even to the strongest warrior. It all depended on how the user wielded his Stand…

"Grimm are the single greatest threat to humanity. They have been for all of recorded history." Winter said plainly, struggling to keep her teeth from chattering together. It was cold. She supposed she should have been happy that the threat of the ancient Ursa Major had been dealt with so handily. If a monster of this size had some day roamed into civilization, the damage could have been staggering.

But she wasn't happy. Risotto Nero was not to be trusted, and if he had this sort of power at his disposal… containing him would be impossible.

"When will the Bullhead be back?" Risotto trudged through the snow, his legs buried to the thighs. Winter had been provided with snowshoes to operate in the snowy Atlesian wilderness, but Risotto hadn't. It was sort of petty, but Ironwood had refused to lend the man any assistance save the most basic necessities.

"As soon as possible." Winter turned her head towards the grey sky. The sky was a dark, tumultuous grey, a thick, endless blanket of cold. "They can't land at the moment. The storm is too harsh." Even her Scroll had no reception here.

 _That_ was a problem.

Risotto chuckled darkly. "I have the feeling that the General would be happier with me frozen _dead_." The man laughed. "I'm afraid he will be disappointed."

The Atlesian specialist couldn't defend the General. Of course Ironwood wanted the assassin dead. The only reason he hadn't tried was because of what Ozpin had said… a threat was gathering over Remnant, and if there was even the slightest possibility of convincing Nero to join the cause— Winter was witness now to the power that the strange man wielded, if that could be harnessed for the good— that might be the difference between life and death.

"I'm here too, you know. The weather this part of Atlas is incredibly unpredictable. Storms come even when the forecast calls for clear skies." Winter didn't know when the Bullhead would come, or when the storm would abate enough for her to send a message on her Scroll. "The General wouldn't leave you to freeze in the wilderness."

"And yet he has…" Risotto hugged the parka that he had been given closer to his body. "We should find shelter. I don't feel like spending my time in the snow." The assassin pointed in the distance, the cave where the giant Ursa had been. "It seems like a fine place to stay. Shall we?"

Hesitantly, Winter nodded, however terrible it may have been spending time in close proximity to Risotto, being in the cold was worse.

* * *

Something small but heavy broke against the wall, some sort of ceramic vase, if Neo guessed correctly. Dead, dry flowers, shards of flowers, fluttered to the ground.

"Don't be talking shit about the Boss." Someone, the boy that had saved them probably, entered the room, a murky yellow light silhouetting him. "It's thanks to him that you're still alive." In his hand was a plastic bag, emanating a delicious, steamy smell. "Here's food for you, girl."

Torchwick tried sitting up in his bed, and winced, placing a hand on his side before sinking to lie back down. "How about me? I'm starving."

"None for you. Sorry." The boy didn't seem too apologetic. "Your stomach was damaged in the explosion, doctor said only a nutrient drip for you."

The disheveled criminal cursed, arms shaking as he ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair. "What the fuck happened? What the fuck was that explosion?"

Their savior nodded his head, his singular, pink bang, mimicking the motion.

"That was us."

"The fuck made you do that?" Roman was angry, but this Passione member, after all, had likely saved his life. "You thought that was a good idea? You're in over your head, kid. The White Fang is _huge_ , they got branches in the other kingdoms, _all_ the other kingdoms. They'll be coming after y'all next." And that wasn't to mention Cinder and _her_ mysterious employer. Roman didn't particularly like the pyromaniac, but he would begrudgingly acknowledge that she was incredibly strong. For a second he went silent and continued. "You have any idea how many people you killed?"

The boy shrugged, a shadowy arm rose and flipped a switch, bathing the room in yellow light. Roman saw him clearly for the first time, a young boy, no older than nineteen, ridiculous pink hair, stupid pink sweater, light purple pants… some sort of flamboyant disgrace to fashion. He had been expecting some grizzled veteran mobster…

"Who the fuck cares about 'em?" The usually dopey, timid boy spoke uncharacteristically loudly. He had been feeling his luck on the up and up ever since arriving in Remnant, ever since he had left Italy. He sounded brash and confident, and the gleam in his eye… Roman knew there was evil in the boy. "People die every day, man. And when it comes to White Fang or whatever the fuck those pussies call themselves, they don't mean shit. _Passione the best._ There isn't anything that's gonna stop us."

But it wasn't as simple as that, Roman knew it, even Neo knew it. That sort of overconfidence was what had gotten Cinder in so much trouble. To write off something dangerous as inconsequential… no matter how strong you were, that was ill-advised.

"You really think you can take on the world like that?" Roman asked rhetorically. He and Neo shared a glance. "Do you really think that makes us want to join you? It sounds fucking stupid."

Doppio responded happily. "Of course it doesn't." His smile did not fade. "You don't need to _want_ to join us. You will. Both of you will."

"And what makes you say that?" It was exactly the same sort of thing that Cinder had told him when she had so _persuasively_ convinced Torchwick to join her cause. A promise of riches, the reward always dangled in front of him, never satisfied. And the threats, Cinder was the strongest person he knew, Torchwick wasn't stupid. When it came to fighting and killing and getting what she wanted… that woman had no equal. It was something in her very soul, the hunger of fire to burn.

The Italian boy scrunched up his face and plopped down on the ground, next to Neo, who quickly scooted away. "Eh? You don't want to join?"

"I already said that you fucking brat!"

"I know." Doppio smiled in satisfaction, enjoying the expression on Roman's face. Neo did as well, she too loved messing with her boss, but now was not the time, she thought. "Tell me, Mr. Torchwick," he flicked his tongue on the last syllable, enunciating the hard consonants. "Why'd you join up with the White Fang? Couldn't have been for money. You could steal all the money you want on your own, no one to split profits with… and you aren't a supporter of their stupid movement, are you?"

Roman wasn't. Something was strange, though, and not just the situation. The boy seemed taller than he was when he entered the room, more muscular.

"Why'd you do it? Why'd you throw away your freedom, why'd you paint an even bigger target on your back? You have some sort of death wish or something?" Doppio uncrossed his legs and rose. Somehow, Roman sensed the atmosphere changing, something in Doppio's eyes were harder, something in his voice turning to gravel, a voice that sent fear down his spine. "People with a death wish _don't fucking survive having rebar shoved through their gut._ You want to live, don't you?"

Of course, Roman wanted to live. What was left to see was what sort of life that would be… something about the boy made him recall the night that he had first been propositioned by that Passione member. Fear gripped his lungs and Roman let out a shaky breath.

"Yeah." He said quietly, none of his usual bluster in his voice. "I want to live."

* * *

And all this time, Risotto hadn't so much as shivered. It was disconcerting. _Was_ he really some sort of demon? Winter didn't know for sure. Certainly, he looked the part, wreathed in hellish light from the fire they had lit, alternatively bathed in the shadow of the cave…

"Lighting a fire in a cave is ill-advised, don't you think?" The assassin asked, playing with the baubles on his hood.

"Most of the time it is." Winter recalled survival training all those years ago. "One never knows if flammable gas will be present, and carbon monoxide poisoning is a real danger in smaller caves."

"Obviously not here," Risotto gestured to their surroundings, a huge, murky darkness, they were perhaps a hundred feet from the white, snowy entrance of the cave. This deep into the mountainside, the wind and snow could not touch them. Neither Winter nor Risotto had any idea how deep the cave went, and without a reliable light source and spelunking equipment, neither dared to go further into the darkness. There wasn't any point in doing so.

"No. Obviously not here." The huge Ursa from earlier had made this cave its home and had been living here until its encounter with Risotto. The walls were marked and gouged with claw prints, long, deep cuts in the stone from where the Grimm had gone and expanded its home. Even Grimm had to breath. If the air quality had been toxic, the Grimm likely wouldn't have made it its home. "Atlas' caves aren't really known for dangerous gases either. The geology..."

Her companion nodded and added another old tree bough to the fire they had lit, sending embers into the air, small flakes of stars, glowing rebellious against the tyrannical darkness. The crackle of fire, the cold wood warming, beginning to burn, heat and oxygen catalyzing the reaction of cellulose to charcoal to ash. Winter and Risotto both stared at the warmth they relied on.

From the ground rose two stools, small and uncomfortable looking, but there they were, dully gleaming in the shadows cast by the fire.

The specialist shot her charge a glance, confused. "I thought you could manipulate blood?"

"It's more accurate to say that _iron_ is what falls under my control." Risotto gave a small smile. "Iron is present in blood. It is present in the earth. It's a common enough metal to be used in various alloys. A ubiquitous substance." Nero declared.

"How do you… how do you do it? I've heard of certain Semblances being able to manipulate matter in such ways, but none as easily or as on a large scale as yours."

The assassin grinned wryly. "I've told you. My Stand, _Metallica_ is what allows me to manipulate iron. It was difficult at first to do so, but it's become easier over the years. It's like breathing now."

"Can you show me your Stand?"

Risotto wore an inscrutable expression on his face. "Miss Winter, let me tell you something about _Stands._ "

The military woman leaned in slightly to hear better, the General, after all, had charged her with finding out more about Risotto Nero.

"Stands are like your asshole."

Had she heard that correctly? How vulgar.

Risotto looked dispassionate, but his eyes told a different story. He was amused. "Amongst Stand users, showing off your Stand is not something done lightly. Even among trusted family members, I'd wager that Stand users keep private about these sorts of matters. Hiding the form of the Stand and the abilities of the Stand keep potential enemies in the dark about what _you_ , the user can do."

That was something that Winter couldn't deny, despite the vulgar way it had been introduced. Huntsmen were somewhat similar. There wasn't any real reason to show off ones Semblance in public. It was a childish and impulsive behavior, coupled with the fact that many Semblances were dangerous, and it was well known among most veteran Huntsmen to save ones Semblance for the battlefield.

"Tell me, Winter," Risotto began, "what exactly _is_ a Huntsman?"

That wasn't an easy question to answer.

"People will say that Huntsmen are heroes, which is accurate to a degree."

"To a degree?" The assassin asked.

"To a degree." Winter nodded her head solemnly. "They are quite heroic, if a bit romanticized. Idolized by children, you understand? It is a profession, I suppose. In the past it was about survival, but…"

"Yes, of course." Risotto understood. Children often thought too highly of people simply because of their positions and standing in society. It was a naïve way to look at things, but children were afforded that luxury. "But what?"

"The truth is that Huntsmen are people just like the people they protect. They're people with responsibilities to use their strength for the common good, who've made a commitment to put others before themselves…" her voice trailed off slowly.

"But it isn't always like that."

"Right." There had been a time, early in her career in the Atlesian military, where Winter had been sent on missions that specifically dealt with rogue Huntsmen. "There are always people who misuse their power."

Risotto didn't respond immediately. That wasn't quite how he looked at things. The _misuse_ _of power_ that Winter had mentioned almost certainly meant _against the law_ , and Risotto had broken countless laws on countless occasions. He had been a gangster, after all, the definition of a law breaker.

"I was one of those people, you know." Risotto finally said after a period of silence.

"What?'

"You have a very narrow way of looking at things," Risotto explained. "A _misuse_ of power? Power is meant to be used _by the powerful_ to do what they see fit. How can the _weak_ , the _powerless,_ the _civilian_ — how can they bind the strong to do _their_ bidding? What debt is owed by the strong to the weak? Must the strong fear the weak?" Risotto had been one of the strong, a feared assassin of Passione. He had done as he pleased, taken what he wanted, lived his life the way he saw fit… and when he wanted more, he had challenged someone _stronger_. That was the way it was, had been, and should be.

Winter narrowed her eyes dangerously. "What are you insinuating?"

"Nothing." Risotto shook his head of the dangerous words threatening to spill. "All I wished to say was that it is _natural_ for people to want more. Not necessarily a negative thing, but a natural drive everyone has."

"And you were one of _those people_?"

Risotto thought carefully of how much he wanted to say. The woman sitting across from him, her beauty highlighted by shadow and firelight, her deadliness made blunt by his own… she wanted to know more, more so she could tell her supervisor, so that they could look for weakness, for vulnerability— things that Risotto knew they would not find. He was stone, and the past would not break him.

"I was a killer. You know this."

Winter nodded. "You've said this before. Many times. What I'm wondering is—"

"You want to know if I was a _dog_ or if I was a _monster_." And Risotto had thought this over many times. He killed on behalf of Passione, not because of a twisted pleasure— no, there was pleasure in killing. Killing validated his own life, reinforced his superiority, and reminded him to never become weak.

But it wasn't death that brought him pleasure.

"I was a dog." And Risotto mused that Winter was as well. A tool of a more influential man, a hound that could be sent to tear apart the enemy, to guard the home. From how vehemently Winter defended the General, her employer, there must have been true love and respect for the man. But Risotto knew that no matter how well an owner treated his dog, the dog would never rise above the level of a beast.

Wasn't that why Risotto had reached past his own station? The Boss kept him well paid, but it hadn't been enough. It was validation Risotto wanted. He did not want to be treated like some tool. How insulting had it been to do so much for the man and receive so little.

"Killing was not something I took lightly. In fact," Risotto remembered his fellow assassins, the greatest killers in all of Passione, _La Squadra._ "I was the leader of a team of assassins. It was because I took my work seriously that I rose to that station. The others," most of his compatriots, his brothers in blood, either took perverse pride in killing or was indifferent towards their work. They killed because it paid the bills. Risotto… he was the one to understand the gravity behind taking a life. "I do not kill unless I have to." There had to be meaning behind death, without that, what meaning was there to be found in life?

Winter laughed bitterly. "You _never_ have to kill. You just end up doing so sometimes. Never gets easier, does it?"

Risotto recalled the first time he had killed a man. "I was fourteen when my younger cousin died, killed by an idiot driving drunk." The body, Risotto realized he hadn't ever seen the body of his dead cousin, the cars roaring, friction hot wheels had pasted most of Valentino Nero's face across the asphalt. The judge had given the bastard _four years_ , just _four years,_ for stealing away seventy from a child.

"Killing is justice in and of itself. When the man was freed from his jail, I found him, and I killed him." Risotto made a line on his stomach with his finger. "I cut him open, groin to heart. And I'd never been happier."

Killing was easy.

It hadn't taken long for Bruno to get to the Headmaster's office. Sticky Fingers allowed him to take the most direct routes, travel through walls with his traitorous cargo, that pretty young girl who had been a spy for Passione.

Times like these were when Bruno thanked God above for giving him such a versatile Stand. What could Naracia's Aerosmith or Mista's Sex Pistols have done in this situation? Sticky Fingers was perfect. Strong, quick, and with an incredibly useful ability. He didn't want to talk trash about the Stand abilities of his friends, but he was glad for his Sticky Fingers—his prisoner would have been unmanageable otherwise. The mysterious power of Aura made the people of Remnant much stronger and durable from what he had learned. Without Sticky Fingers' zippers, Bruno wouldn't have been able to subdue the girl with such ease.

To keep her from struggling, Bruno had zipped the girl's arms to her torso and her legs together, forming a kind of rigid human board that was unable to move. Even her mouth had been zippered shut so she couldn't cry out— Bruno knew how bad it would have looked if anyone were to have caught him moving the girl— tied up and restrained, a man taking her to places unknown, it was trouble, but necessary trouble.

"It disgusts me," Bruno looked at Belladonna, who had such an expression on hate in her eyes, tears bubbling at the corners, her face growing blotchy. "When you think that _he_ has reached the limits of his depravity, of his _evil_. He goes further. Sending his agents to a school…" The young gangster trembled with anger. It was expected, normal even, for Passione to target children. The gang had been selling drugs to the young even back in Italy, getting them hooked on the false chemical paradise and ruining their bodies, their lives, poisoning their blood and souls… and that wasn't even beginning to mention the families destroyed and souls damned to the infernal drug trade. All that for one man's profit…

Blake of course, thought that Bruno was speaking about _Adam_. The leader of the Fang had certainly done enough to make enemies all throughout Vale. But the question remained how the boy had known about _her_ ties to the Fang…

The Faunus had tried to struggle, flailing her body like a fish, for that was all she could do. It didn't help any. Bruno wasn't the one holding her, rather, the strange humanoid golem, the one that answered to the name _Sticky Fingers_ had her in its strong embrace. It was like struggling against steel cordage, futile.

"I'm going to kill him next time." Bruno's eyes, blue and steely narrowed as he approached the elevator to the Headmaster's office. "Next time I see him, I'm going to send him straight to Hell. You can meet your Boss then. I'm betting you don't even know his name." The gangster sneered.

Now _that_ made Blake confused. If anything, Adam Taurus was a rather famous figure among the White Fang, he had risen through the ranks through skill and the bonds that he formed with his subordinates. Always professional and brutal, but always displaying the utmost loyalty to the Fang. And it wasn't like the Bloody Beast was trying to hide from his brothers… in fact, Adam was rather the charismatic leader. Everyone respected him, feared him, in equal amounts. Bruno wasn't talking about Adam, she was sure of it.

No, not equal. Blake's heart cringed. She hated herself for the feelings she held, for worrying about the man who had hurt her so many times… but love wasn't something she could let go of so easily. But now wasn't the time. Now was time to rage and escape and think of a way out of this all. What would Ozpin do once he found out that she had been a member of the Fang? Surely there would be consequences, and despite the short time Blake had spent with her teammates, she was already beginning to dread losing them. Expulsion would be the least of her worries.

The elevator doors opened and Bruno, Sticky Fingers, and an immobile Blake entered.

"Count it for 'im." Doppio had left the room momentarily and returned with a duffel bag, which he threw at Neo's feet. "Fifty thousand Lien, I think. It's for you guys."

The criminal pair, Roman and Neo, their eyes widen past what they could believe. Fifty thousand Lien wasn't an enormous amount of money, especially considering the market that Passione had recently cornered, but it was still a hefty sum. For Doppio to act so casually with the money… neither criminal knew what to make of it. It either told of incredible stupidity, carelessness, or _wealth_. Either the pink haired weirdo in front of them was an idiot, or he was so rich that fifty thousand meant that little to him.

"I'm never a guy to _not_ accept free money," Roman tried being his usual joking self, but the pain in his stomach was intense. "But we haven't done anything yet. We told you we're not joining!"

"Uh," Doppio scratched his head sheepishly and mumbled to himself. "Shit… what did the Boss tell me to say…" He must have thought of it quickly as he pounded his fist into his palm. "Right! The Boss wanted me to tell you, Mr. Torchwick, that it's ' _for injuries sustained during work_ '. Think of it as worker's compensation."

Hadn't he been clear enough? Roman shared a look with his partner/protégé, Neo looked confused as well.

"Look, kid. I appreciate the gesture and all, but _I don't want to work with you guys_. Okay?" Roman ground out. "You can't just _make_ us work with you okay? Our last boss pulled the same shit, and look where it got us! You think I _want_ to work with drug dealers?" Roman tried his hardest to sit up, but moaned as pain exploded. "Fuck!"

Neo rushed to his side, Lien forgotten, genuine concern on her face. She might tease and even find Roman's discomfort funny, but at the end of the day, Neo saw the criminal as a friend and father of sorts. There was a disturbing thought, Roman being a father.

The Passione member grimaced. "Alright then. Boss said not to push it to hard…" he put a hand under his chin in contemplation. "That money is for you. We had been _hoping_ that it would have convinced you to work with us, but, I guess it wasn't enough." Doppio shrugged. "But you know what we can do now, don't you?" The pink haired boy asked Roman now, looking at the injured man, a particularly bloodthirsty smile on his face. "Passione isn't anything to fuck around with, _capice?_ As long as _you_ know that, I guess everyone _else_ will learn that. Right?"

Roman had always considered himself smart, not book smart, but he had always been able to read a situation for what it was and adjust himself accordingly. Passione, this upstart new gang that had somehow cornered the drug market was ready to wage war. They had proved that with their attack on the White Fang. Now, Roman didn't know _why_ Passione was out to do this, but he knew that there would be hundreds more casualties soon, and he did _not_ want to get caught in between a gang war. White Fang was a terrorist organization, but they, at least nominally, were dedicated to the improvement of Faunus rights. The cartels and sex traffickers were only out to make money, they'd do anything to keep making money.

"Who's the leader?" Roman asked sharply. "I've been in the business a long time, and I can't think of anyone who could be leading Passione. It's not _you,_ " the injured criminal spat. "You're just a kid. Who's your _Boss_?"

"He's a busy man, our Boss is. A great man." Doppio smiled wistfully. "The money's _yours,_ Torchwick. I hope you know better than to go back to your previous employers— you're a dead man if you do. I guess we'll see each other around. Scum has a way of gathering scum, don't they?"

A question rose on Roman's lips, about to ask for further information on this _Boss_ , but in the space between instants, the young Passione representative had vanished from the room. Roman didn't remember him walking out, and from the confusion on Neo's face, the girl didn't either.

The criminal shivered and stared at the briefcase that had been left behind. The money, all fifty thousand of it, a small fortune, was his now. Effectively today was goodbye to his life as a criminal, at least for the time being. He was crippled for the foreseeable future, injuries like the one he had took a while to heal from, even with Aura. Going back to Cinder would be a mistake, Roman didn't even know if that bitch was still alive. He sure hoped not.

He sighed and lay there in his bed.

 _"HE REFUSED YOU, DOPPIO?"_

The Boss asked in a deadly velvet voice.

"Yeah… sorry about that Boss, maybe I could have convinced him better, I don't know." Doppio apologized. He was in a taxi now, just traveling, roaming, wandering until his next orders. "But why didn't you want me to kill them?" Doppio spoke freely, the cab driver was a Passione member. "It would have been so easy. Roman's near dead and that other girl— no way she could have stopped me. King Crimson is invincible."

 _"THAT SORT OF THINKING MUST BE BANISHED, MY DEAR. CONFIDENCE IS IMPORTANT, BUT TO DISMISS A THREAT IS IGNORANT. TAKE EVERY POSSIBLE COMBATANT AS A POSSIBLE MEANS TO YOUR DEATH. UNDERSTAND THIS AND YOU WILL LIVE."_

"Uh, yes… of course, Boss!"

 _"YOU ARE CURIOUS, DOPPIO? CURIOUS WHY I HADN'T ORDER THE DEATHS OF ROMAN TORCHWICK AND HIS ACCOMPLICE?"_

"Yes, Boss. It's just…" Doppio thought of Italy, his home that he missed. The Boss would never have tolerated a refusal like the one Torchwick had given. It was either his way or the highway, so they said. "You never would've let him get away like that. And with all that money!" Doppio was new to Remnant, but 1 Lien was roughly the same as 1600 Lira, or a little less than 1 Euro. The half a million that Torchwick had gotten for free… that was a fortune.

 _"MEN LIKE TORCHWICK ARE RULED BY GREED. GIRLS LIKE NEOPOLITAN LOOK FOR FATHERS."_

Doppio drank up the Boss' wisdom.

 _"TORCHWICK WILL COME TO US BECAUSE HE HAS TASTED WHAT WE CAN BRING HIM. THE GIRL WILL COME BECAUSE OF TORCHWICK. THEY WILL NOT BETRAY US. WHEN THEY CRAWL BACK TO US… THEY WILL BE AN ASSET. IT WILL BE ON THEIR TERMS, SO THEY BELIEVE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? THOSE TWO DEGENERATES CANNOT RESIST CRIME. WE HAVE BOUGHT THEM FOR A TINY SUM. THEY CANNOT REENTER THIS WORLD OF CRIME WITHOUT US ANYMORE. THEY'VE ACCEPTED OUR MONEY, NO MATTER HOW UNWILLINGLY. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"_

He did. A little at least.

"Sure, Boss. I think I'm getting it."

 _"THEN, MY DEAR. HERE IS WHAT YOU WILL DO NEXT. YOU MUST RECRUIT."_

"But Boss! I've been doing that!" And Doppio had. Passione's membership was still low, but after the events of the past couple days, he was confident that with the White Fang so drastically weakened, Passione would be an attractive employer for those who were discontent with the White Fang.

 _"SLAVES, DOPPIO. YOU'VE MADE ME AN ARMY OF SLAVES. THEY ARE HARDLY THE TYPE TO BE ABLE TO LEAD. THEY ARE NOT OFFICERS. THEY ARE NOT STRONG. THEY ARE HANDS AND NOTHING MORE THAN THAT. I NEED YOU TO BRING ME ROOKS AND BISHOPS AND KNIGHTS, NO MORE OF THESE PAWNS."_

"I… I don't really know where to find guys like that, Boss!" Doppio cried out. "They're rare! It's not like Italy! We had the Arrow Test to find strong guys for us then!"

 _"CALM NOW, DOPPIO. I KNOW THE SITUATION IS DIFFERENT. THIS WORLD IS DANGEROUS, AND DANGER BREEDS STRONG FIGHTERS. FIND ONE. LET THEM CHOOSE BETWEEN THEIR_ PASSIONE _AND DEATH."_

And when the Boss hung up, Doppio had his mission.

"A misunderstanding," Ozpin declared. "An unfortunate one, but ultimately, no harm was done besides Miss Belladonna missing her class."

Both Blake and Bruno looked on in shock, the prior because she couldn't believe that the Headmaster would be so lenient towards the man that had literally just kidnapped her, and the latter because… well Bruno didn't know what to think of it.

"Headmaster."

"Call me Ozpin, Bruno."

"Ozpin," Bruno started and looked hesitantly at the girl sitting beside him, a girl whom he had wrongfully suspected of being a member of Passione, whom he had kidnapped and tried to bring to justice… "Miss Belladonna, words cannot express my shame. I judged you incorrectly."

Blake muttered something heated under her breath and Bruno let it pass, he deserved any and all unkind words and more. To act in such a reckless way… it was unbecoming and dangerous. Attacking a student without any _real_ justification wasn't decisiveness or heroic action, it was stupid and naïve. Bruno had made a mistake.

"Not quite incorrectly, Bruno." Ozpin's eyes gleamed as he stared now at Blake. "I've actually been meaning to speak with Miss Belladonna here."

And the attention was on the hiding Faunus now.

"About what, Professor?" Blake asked as innocently as she could. Inwardly she knew what was coming. How stupid of her to think that she could come to Beacon and not have her past revealed!

"Bruno has incorrectly accused you of being a member of Passione. Care to guess how I know this?" Ozpin asked rhetorically. "Late last night there was an explosion at the dockyards, you've heard, correct?"

Blake and Bruno both nodded.

"A tragic affair," Ozpin continued now, his eyes sharp. "The Vale Police Department have yet to put out an official statement, but it is known for a _fact_ ," his cane tapped the floor for emphasis, "that the White Fang were present. Truthfully, they were having a general body meeting of sorts. I have reason to believe that it wasn't." Now came the truth. "Miss Belladonna here, was a member of the White Fang. _That_ is how I know she is not involved with Passione."

"Because you suspect _Passione_ of the explosion?" Bruno speculated. "I suppose that's fair enough to distance Miss Belladonna from the group… although I would raise question with why she was a member of the White Fang in the first place… what makes you think Passione did it?"

Blake was out of the loop now. What exactly was Passione? Why had Bruno, who normally came across as a polite and kind man from what she had seen of him, why had he acted so violently when he suspected her of being a member?

"They have reason to do so, don't they?" Ozpin argued. "A newly established gang with a highly motivated and capable leader, strong streams of revenue, why wouldn't they challenge the White Fang? Along with Torchwick, the White Fang controls a huge portion of criminal Vale."

Bruno wasn't too sure. Diavolo had never been the type of man to do something so… flashy. How else did he hide away for over a decade, no one ever even catching a glimpse of the man?

"It's not a matter of motivation, Ozpin. You must understand that Diavolo is absolutely paranoid about his identity and being found. Assassinations and backstreet executions yes, he is capable of all that and more. But public acts of terror? I find it hard to believe. It's isn't his style."

Assassinations? Executions? Blake didn't know what to make of it. The calm and steady way that Bruno was talking about the actions of some mystery gang was highly suspect. Blake herself had done terrible things on behalf of the White Fang, but to their credit, assassination was fairly rare for the Faunus organization, unless it was against members of the SDC.

Bruno continued. "Why would Diavolo challenge the Fang? He has everything that he could want. You told me that the White Fang doesn't deal in drugs."

Ozpin and Blake both nodded.

"Correct, Bruno. But the fact of the matter is that Vale is only one city, and that this Diavolo you mention, the Boss of Passione, seems all too eager to expand. Territory is territory. I doubt the White Fang will take kindly to Passione operating on what they consider to be their grounds." The headmaster took his head into his hands and sighed, looking weary. "That's the last thing we need. A gang war right before the Vytal Festival…"

"Take him out then!" Bruno's eyes blazed in righteous anger. "Send in Huntsmen to stop the drug trafficking across the boarders of this Kingdom! You must do something. Allow him to entrench himself and you won't only have a gang war on your hands…"

"Resources, Bruno. Remember that there are still the Grimm to contend with. Huntsmen have the majority of their time spent on the fringes of the kingdom, defending villages, exterminating Grimm. There isn't the manpower to spend fighting a nebulous gang." Ozpin sighed. "Besides, both the White Fang and the drug cartels are _international_ organizations. The Vale branch of the White Fang will undoubtedly be bolstered by their sister groups. The cartels will do the same for Passione most likely. It has been difficult for them to get a strong foothold in Vale. Huntsmen are trained to deal with _Grimm._ While they do operate against criminal cells and the like, they aren't very well suited to root out drug smuggling schemes and operations." That sort of work was best suited to police officers.

"Then me!" Bruno finally stood from his chair, his whole body trembling with the desire to see justice be done. "Send me into the city, I will find Diavolo, I will uproot Passione, I will—"

"No. You've shown yourself to be far too impulsive today. Your judgement is clouded by your hate for _Diavolo_ , as you say. Whatever you have against Passione, is not helping."

" _You—_ " Bruno snarled and Blake interrupted, partially to try and diffuse the situation and partly because she was confused as to why _she_ was still here. What had originally been a conversation about why Bruno had attacked her had devolved to a discussion on something she didn't quite understand.

"Professor!" Blake shouted before Bruno could continue. "If you're going to keep me here, I'd like to at least know what you two are talking about. Please." She added. With the attention of both men now on her, and a potential argument avoided, Blake felt slightly better, although Bruno's gaze was heavy and acrid.

"Ah… Blake, I almost forgot why we gathered in the first place. Silly of me." Ozpin said, sounding almost grateful for the change in tone. "Your ties to the White Fang, and of course, because of Bruno's untimely—"

"Get on with it, Ozpin." Bruno's voice, Blake remembered it earlier when he had been comforting her, warm and soft and kind, was colder now, angrier. "Are you meaning to tell her about this mess? She's too young!"

"She's training to be a Huntress, Bruno. Miss Belladonna is near the top of her class academically and is quite the exceptional fighter." The Faunus blushed at the praise lavished on her. "Do not discount her because of her age. Besides, you are only two or three years older than her."

Bruno inhaled deeply, his eyes shut in tempered annoyance. "Ozpin. This isn't a game for school children to be playing. Fighting wild animals is one thing, this— there will be tragedy. There always is." And in Bruno's face held deep sadness. "People are killed so easily. The young especially so."

"The fact remains, Bruno, that _you_ are the one who attacked her, suspecting her of being a member of _Passione_. Which she is not."

To hear Ozpin arguing on her behalf did wonders for Blake's self-esteem. The Headmaster thought her worthy of being privy to a crisis? That she could do something when, so many others couldn't?

"You are the one who involved her Bruno. She at least as the right to know _why_ you attacked her."

The gangster couldn't argue with that. He looked at the black-haired girl, guilt on his face. He _had_ overreacted and lashed out, partly due to his own paranoia, and partly due to his frustration. Ever since arriving on Remnant and being informed that Diavolo was here, no doubt corrupting the weak and terrorizing the vulnerable with his violence and chemicals… he hadn't been able to do anything. And now, due to his actions, he might have shot himself in the foot. Ozpin, his mysterious benefactor, seemed to trust him less and less.

"I will not tell her _everything_ , Ozpin." Bruno declared after a momentary silence, alluding to his origins. "But you are correct. She at least deserves to know what I accused her of."

And Ozpin smiled, satisfied.

"Good."

Bruno didn't like the look on the man's face. Not at all.

"For the foreseeable future, if you'd like to pursue Passione, you and Miss Belladonna will be working together."

"I was getting worried that you had forgotten me, General."

Ironwood entered the bridge and frowned. Somehow, despite the strict orders he had given Winter to _not_ let the man explore the airship at his leisure, Risotto had done so. The various pilots that worked to keep the ship afloat were busy at work, but their fear was obvious. They were, after all, in the presence of a killer. They had heard the stories.

"Are you satisfied, General? The monster is dead. That noble, ancient Grimm has been torn apart, by yours truly." Nero's voice was sarcastic and biting. "I am your humble _servant_."

"What do you want, Nero?" Ironwood, irritated, bit out. "Why are you here? You're supposed to be with _Winter_." Ironwood was honestly tired of the man. A part of him wanted to foist him off to Ozpin at the earliest convenience… but he didn't think it wise. Ozpin, despite his brilliance and strength, was far too lenient. Risotto Nero, a self-professed killer, did not deserve leniency. "I have to speak with the Atlesian Council in short order."

There was an equilibrium here, and both Ironwood and Nero were aware of it. The General knew that a rogue Nero would spell disaster for Remnant. That black-eyed man, the limits of his power only barely understood, could kill hundreds if he so desired. But like all rampaging beasts, a solution _would_ be found, and Risotto would be put down at the end of any hypothetical rampage. But the cost would be great. No, better to keep Risotto on a leash, afford him the things you would a guest… tolerating the man was no easy task however, and the General found himself at the end of his patience more often than not.

"I have done your work, Ironwood." Nero stood up, placing his hand on the shoulder of a nearby worker to help himself on his feet. That brief instant of contact elicited a small moan of fear from the poor pilot. "I have butchered your little _pest_. What more do you want? Do you expect me to be your happy prisoner forever?"

"That little _pest_ , Nero, was the second largest known Grimm of that particular species _ever recorded._ "

"An expensive target then." Nero declared. "All the more reason to reward me. I've done you a service, quite a great service if the animal was such a powerful one."

"A _Grimm_ , Nero, not an animal." Sometimes, Ironwood forgot that he was dealing with someone almost wholly unfamiliar with the history of Remnant. Grimm were _not_ animals… "Consider it a service to society. You've made sure that monster won't threaten anyone else. And as your reward— we're providing you with everything you may want. Food, shelter, protection, what else could you need? You're in a world where you know _nothing_."

"I know how to kill, General. That's the only thing worth knowing, isn't it?" Risotto fixed Ironwood with suspicious gaze from his black eyes. "I will admit that as of now, I know too little about this world to live a very meaningful life… but I am not your soldier, nor will I ever be your soldier. I want my freedom, Ironwood."

"Not possible," Ironwood grunted and took his seat on the bridge. The Council would call in perhaps five minutes, and he _really_ wanted some time alone to compose himself before speaking with those old men… "You're an unknown— furthermore, you've proven yourself to be dangerous. How can we let you out of our sights before confirming that you're not a threat?"

Risotto left, presumably to find his handler, or to find food, but not without a parting remark. "I am not a patient man, General. Know this before you send me to pick up the _trash_ that you cannot."

"I've lost confidence in him."

Bruno and Blake sat alone in an empty classroom after their meeting with Ozpin. They weren't friends by any means, especially with what the gangster had done to the Faunus, but they had to discuss the arrangement that had been drawn up by the enigmatic Headmaster. Bruno's penance, Blake's reparation.

"The Headmaster knows what's best," Blake said softly. But she too was not sure. Cooperation? Between the two of them? Two who did not trust each other in the least? Impossible. Even her teammates didn't trust each other, not fully. Yang was too protective of Ruby, and that protectiveness led to coddling. Weiss, even after the talk that she had with Port, didn't seem to _completely_ trust their leader. And Blake… none of her teammates even knew what she really was. Was Ozpin right in putting Bruno and Blake together? Especially when it came to a subject as serious as this?

"I do not know what he meant by _working together_ , but I will tell you what you deserve to hear."

Blake nodded, sitting across from Bruno, she sat on a desk while Bruno was leaning against a wall on the other side of the room.

"Firstly, an apology." Bruno, his eyes were glaciers, no turbulence in them as she had seen in Ozpin's office. "I wrongly suspected you of being a criminal."

Blake replied softly. "Not wrongly. I used to be one."

"An apology then for treating you so appallingly." In the blue of his eyes was sincerity, and Blake acknowledged that. And although she still hadn't gotten completely over his attack on her, she felt that to move forward, the apology would have to be accepted.

"It's in the past now. It's fine." What Blake wanted to know was how White Fang fit into all this, and how the attack on the White Fang meeting yesterday had to do with Passione, as Ozpin had suspected. While that part of her life was behind her, it didn't stop Blake from feeling passionately about the group. Her tenure there had yielded her valuable comrades, and had taught her much about survival, what it meant to be a Faunus living in society, and what _not_ to become. If it had even a little to do with the White Fang, Blake wanted to be involved.

"What exactly _is_ Passione?"

Bruno bowed his head, in what Blake assumed to be regret.

"An organization that I was once a part of. They operate the way a typical criminal gang would. They sell drugs, traffic sex workers, bribe public officials, and carry out assassinations."

"And why is Ozpin so concerned about them? I understand that his priority is to keep the peace, but isn't this a matter for the police?"

Now this, Bruno did not have a complete answer for. He couldn't just tell the girl that Passione had been established by Diavolo, a man from another world, and that _he_ , Bruno, had a responsibility to stop the gang because he too was from said alternate world. A lie was in order.

"Passione was hugely powerful in Mistral. At great personal cost, I rose against the leader of the organization. While my allies and I were successful in usurping the Boss, he escaped to Vale. I feared that he would… cause trouble here. I followed and left my friends behind to reform Passione." It was good a story as any. Under more careful scrutiny it would fall apart, as Bruno really knew nothing of Mistral, but for now it was adequate as a cover.

"I think I understand how you feel," Blake said quietly. "But how does the White Fang fit in all this?" That was what she was interested in.

"From what I know of the Boss and how he operates, the man will not tolerate another criminal organization in his _territory_. He is a paranoid and mistrustful man. It is almost certain that he will seek to destroy the White Fang. The politics of human-Faunus relationships is less than secondary to him." Bruno said blandly. "The White Fang meeting that occurred yesterday, the one where the police say a gas explosion killed hundreds— the Headmaster believes that it was orchestrated by Passione."

It was heavy stuff to take in.

"That is what you are entitled to know, I believe. Do you have any other questions?"

Blake pondered for a moment. She hadn't really learned anything about _who_ Bruno Bucciarati was, but at this point, that wasn't too important.

"How can I help?" Her question was soft but carried force.

The gangster shook his head. "You can't. Ozpin even has me delegated to an advisory role until proper forces and evidence against Passione can be leveled. He has his hands in many pots, that man. Not enough resources to chase a nascent criminal organization when he has the Grimm and upcoming Vytal Festival to worry about." Bruno spoke bitterly and tried his best to make the situation seem stagnant in order to dissuade Blake from further pursuing the topic. "He doesn't understand the danger that the country is in."

"The White Fang is _my_ responsibility." This was one thing that Blake would remain adamant on.

"The Boss will hunt them into _oblivion_. Miss Belladonna, this should be considered a massacre more than a war if the Boss is involved. People will die. You are too young to be involved." Bruno didn't want to see another young life destroyed to take down Passione. Fugo, Narancia, Giorno… they had all been so young and all had lost so much, gone through so much pain and terror in the campaign against Diavolo.

"I've been through worse." Blake had been a member of a criminal organization as well. She knew how bad it could get.

It would get worse.

 **AN: haven't touched this story in a while, got bored/tired of writing it when I realized how cliché/bad some of it is so far. Now that part 5 is airing, might work on it more.**


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